


Into Heaven We Gazed

by wingsofcrimson



Category: Shaman King
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-01 02:27:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 86,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2756174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingsofcrimson/pseuds/wingsofcrimson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suburban AU. Young down-and-out Horo is sucked into the belly of a dark conspiracy when he meets the troubled stranger, Ren. The two must work together to free themselves of their own personal demons, while trying to unravel the mystery of Ren’s past.</p>
<p>Meanwhile Anna, a new employee of a local nightclub, is working to expose the sordid secrets of her boss - who just happens to be playboy millionaire of the year, Hao Asakura.</p>
<p>Lost and misguided Pirika is forced to make her own way in the world after the failings of her older brother, but instead finds herself entangled in a bitter and violent turf war between two rival gangs.</p>
<p>Deeply religious car salesman Marco finds himself riddled with guilt as a dark figure from his past returns to remind him of his sins - with devastating consequences.</p>
<p>Join them on a journey of secrets, lies and torment as their worlds suddenly and unexpectedly collide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He could walk for miles. On and on, feet pounding furiously at the pavement beneath him. In this drunken stupor, he could walk forever.

Usui Horokeu was twenty-four years old, and carried the world on his young shoulders. Despite his age, he was weary of his existence. He had no desire to die – he had grown tired of that idea a long time ago. Now all he had left was a desire to escape. That was why, more often than not, he was to be found drowning his sorrows in a bar somewhere in the bustling city, and then walking to its outskirts to stumble through its forgotten streets.

And that was the very place he was to be found at this moment, walking at a fury-fired pace through an old industrial estate, a ruin of the modern world. The sun was waning to the chill of the twilight glow, making the buildings around him seem like huge skeletons, looming over the dirt track on which he walked. Some of the buildings had windows punched out, the gaping spaces where they once were akin to deep-set eyes, focusing upon this lone figure that travelled, a little unsteadily, in their midst. Occasionally, the exhausted remains of a truck appeared on the horizon, large and somewhat terrifying. Like a creature from a nightmare, bruised and rotting slowly, it materialised on the edge of his wavering vision. These inanimate entities were the only things around. Even the rats stayed out of this place, with no obvious food source to draw them there. And so the wind was left to rattle ominously through the hollow shells of the factories and office buildings that once stood here, now looking even more repugnant than when they were first built.

What Horo really wanted was nature. He wanted to be surrounded by untamed forests, or deep fields of wildflowers, with the smoky smell of autumn embracing him like an old friend. He took a deep breath, eyes closed, half expecting to be able to catch that scent on the wind. Instead, all he got was a mouthful of stale, pollution-ridden air that made him choke and splutter. No matter how far he walked, he would never reach the countryside. At least, that was how he felt. He lived so far into the city, almost every spindly little tree around him had been planted by humans. There was nothing natural, nothing _fresh_.

Horo never drank himself to the point where he couldn't control his own actions. What he sought was the ability to lose his sense of awareness, to lose himself in the desolate places that he wandered to. As he looked around, he realised that he had achieved just that; he had lost reason and with it, the ability to choose _._ Though the landscape was similar here from beginning to end, like a copy-and-paste of the same monstrous buildings, there was a certain sense of peace in this spot that he knew he had never found before. He halted dead in his tracks for a moment, and drank in the feeling. The old factory he stood before was not remarkable in any way, sitting in the same dreary state as all the others nearby. But there was something about where he stood, a sensation that felt as though it would be lost should he take another step in either direction. It was a feeling of emptiness, nothing more. A feeling of... nothing. Horo squeezed his fingers tightly into his palms and closed his eyes. Yes, _this_ was the feeling he craved. Nothing to think, nothing to feel.

As Horo stood, facing this building, breathing in deeply as though he were trying to inhale the whole experience, he slowly became aware of something else, something more acute. A voice.

It was gentle and unwavering. It was _singing_. Horo's eyebrows knitted together in confusion as he opened his eyes and glanced around himself. There was certainly nobody around him, probably not for at least a few miles in any direction. And yet... there was _definitely_ someone singing. As Horo listened, he became all the more sure of the fact. Focusing on the calming melody, it became apparent that what he could hear was a church hymn.

For a brief moment, he was transported to the rural parish of his childhood, where his parents had sung praises routinely every Sunday, where his four-year old heart had barely been able to comprehend the 'glory of God'...

Almost subconsciously, he took two steps forward. The singing seemed to get louder. The voice was, oddly enough, coming from inside the old factory right in front of him. The prospect of this drew Horo even closer, the door of the wretched building firmly in his sights. The voice reverberated in his ear drums, pitch-perfect and almost soothing. A great desire to find the source of that wonderful sound gripped him. He reached out to the handle of the door. The entrance was as normal as it could be, which somehow made it all the more strange. It looked considerably fresher than the rest of the rickety old structure. Horo pulled down on the handle, and suddenly, the words of the hymn became clear.

“ _While I draw this fleeting breath, when my eyelids close in death...”_

The voice continued on, unfaltering, as Horo stepped into a vast room he didn't think the building capable of holding. Around the edges of this space were relics from when the building was once used for industry; old crates and dusty boxes, gathered in tall piles that dominated the walls and blocked the view of the lower windows. The higher, second-storey windows were all that was left to let in the dim dusk light. He could see right up to them, through the ceiling that had crumbled away, up into the neglected old roof. His eyes finally came to settle in the centre of the room. Somehow, what he saw, he almost expected. An assembly of mismatched church pews, styles and designs abundant, were gathered together and laid out in neat lines. All of them faced what appeared to be an altar, consisting of a statue raised on a structure of low-lying crates. He couldn’t tell what the statue was from a distance. The only way to see it was to get closer.

“ _When I soar through tracts unknown, see thee on thy judgement throne...”_

As Horo took a step, he was reminded of that haunting voice. The melody of the song was endearingly doleful. Horo felt his heart beat firmly against his chest, as though it were demanding to understand what the sound was. The song crashed over him like a wave, and urged him closer to the peculiar scene in the middle of the room. It was then that Horo cast his eyes upon a slender male figure, crouched at the altar's base.

“ _Rock of ages, cleft for me, let me hide myself in thee.”_

Horo let the last note of the song ring out and echo around him in all its perfection, before stopping just before the first of the pews and calling out gently, “Hello?”

The person at the altar stood and whipped around. It was a young man, with violet hair and cat-like eyes. He was small and frail-looking, wearing nothing more than a short cotton shift. Most notably, he was holding a knife. His right hand shook violently as he jabbed the weapon in Horo’s direction.

Horo flinched at the sight of the blade, belatedly. The alcohol in his bloodstream was stifling his reactions.

“Who are you?” the young man demanded, in a tone more threatening than he seemed capable of.

“I’m nobody, really!” He threw up his hands in the air as a sign of peace. The stranger already seemed a hairsbreadth away from snapping. He didn’t want to be the one that caused him to flip. “I just came in here because I heard the singing. I’m sorry!”

“You’re not here to stop me?”

“Stop you from what?”

The stranger didn’t respond. Slowly, he turned his back, and Horo saw the knife twist in his hands. For the first time, Horo saw the cuts on the skin of his forearm. The blade was now poised in line with the young man’s stomach. One sharp thrust and it would…

“Oh, hey! Wait!” Horo dashed forward a few steps, without much prior thought. “Why are you doing that?”

The stranger didn’t turn around. “He needs to die. There’s nothing I can do.”

A quick scan of the room told Horo there was no one else nearby. He was obviously referring to himself.

“Now listen to me, whatever you think you’ve done wrong, whatever’s happened, this doesn’t have to be the solution, you hear me?”

The knife drifted; he was hesitating. “And what _is_ the solution?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Horo admitted. The knife wandered closer. “But! If you come here and talk to me… just put down the knife, and we’ll talk. If I know a bit more, I can help you.” He doubted the weight of his own words, but he had to say something, _anything,_ to get that knife out of his hands. He would figure the rest out later.

“Help… me?” The young man seemed to find that almost amusing, a tight smile on his face when he turned around. “It’s not _me_ that needs help, it’s-“

Without warning, the stranger’s body crumpled beneath him. He fell to his knees with a cry of pain. The knife clattered to the dirt floor.

Horo panicked. He rushed forwards, tripping over his own feet in a clumsy stupor to reach the young man's side. He was doubled-over and clutching desperately at his sides, tears brimming in his darkly-circled eyes. Horo fell to his knees beside him with worry.

“Are you okay?”

The stranger spluttered with tears, in a voice that was far more emotional now. “It hurts...”

“What does?” Horo reached out to place his hands on the young man's frail shoulders, desperate to get a better look at him. “Hey, let me see you, I-”

“No!” The stranger screamed and flailed his arms out wildly, batting Horo's hands away. “Don't touch me! Please, don't...” He collapsed back into position, tears rolling down his sunken cheeks.

Horo shot back, alarmed by the sudden reaction. “Okay, okay! I won't.” His mind was at once overwhelmed. He cast his eyes over the stranger as he considered what to do. In addition to the fresh wounds on his forearms, Horo noticed countless small scratches and bruises all over his body. Some of them looked alarmingly similar to fingernail tracks.

Horo shook himself, trying to bring himself out of the haze that the alcohol had left him in. He needed to think straight. “Listen, you need my help. What's your name?”

The young man bent over even further, his nose almost touching the cold dirt floor. He was shaking violently. “M-My name? My name is... Ren.”

“Okay, Ren. I'm Horo. I'm here to help you. We're going to get you to a hospital or something, you can't carry on like this.”

“N-No. I'm not going anywhere. I-I'm staying here.”

“What do you mean? You're obviously not well. Don't worry, I won't hurt you, just let me...” Horo reached out gently to take one of Ren's fragile hands in his.

Ren snatched it away as though Horo's touch were pure fire. His tears came faster. “I said don't touch me! Please, just leave me b-be...”

Horo withdrew his hand, his mind working over-time. “Can you stand?”

Ren’s body twitched as though he was trying to get to his feet, but he didn’t move an inch from the ground. The effort seemed too much, and his breathing quickened. Horo reached out once more to steady him. This time, Ren didn't resist. Horo watched his chest heaving, and his eyelids drooping. Horo just managed to catch him as he passed out cold.

Without a second thought or even a moment to consider, Horo got to his feet, the broken stranger still in his arms. Though he had tensed his muscles to brace the weight of the body, he soon found it was unnecessary. Ren's form was so slight, he barely weighed more than a large house cat. As Horo stood there, alone in this foreboding sanctuary, he gazed upon the still face of the young man in his arms. Even in this unexpected slumber, he still didn't seem to be at ease.

Something was very wrong with this stranger, that would make him so very weary and cause him to do such harm to himself. At the moment, Horo couldn't bear to comprehend what his troubles could be. All he knew was his desire to help. And so, though his head was pounding and his heart sang out with worry, Horo grasped Ren close and began the long walk back into the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for checking out the first chapter of Into Heaven We Gazed! I've been writing this story for a number of years now and it is very dear to my heart. If you could take the time to leave a review, I'd really appreciate it.
> 
> This project is part of the Shaman King Big Bang 2014.


	2. Chapter 2

Pirika drew deeply on the cigarette she held loosely between her fingers. She wasn’t a committed smoker, and the fumes made her insides feel like death every time she inhaled. Even she could tell they had been laced with something unsavoury, something that left her with a distinctive high after just a few drags. But she didn’t have to pay for them, so what did she care?

She heard echoes of drunken laughter and raucous male banter not too far away, and she immediately straightened her posture, shooting up like a terrified mongrel. The group she had heard soon appeared on the other side of the street, stumbling over each other and kicking a bottle or two as they went. Pirika breathed out and fell back against the wall, retreating into the cover of the shadows. It wasn’t them. She wished they wouldn’t keep her waiting like this, though she wouldn’t dare to bring it up in conversation.

She shuddered a little as a spiteful wind bit about her bare legs. If she was honest, she would much rather have been wearing denims and an oversized nylon jacket right about now, to shield her from the autumn evening’s cold snatches. But that was strictly forbidden when meeting Ryu. All of her clients had their hang-ups, but Ryu was the most pedantic of them all. If things weren’t just right for him... well, the thought actually terrified her, though she shirked from admitting it to herself. Subconsciously, she began checking herself over, making sure she’d remembered everything. She pursed her lips to feel the gloss in the hideous shade of pink he so appreciated, rubbed one leg quickly against the other to be sure they were completely smooth to the touch, checked her pocket mirror to see the dark lines of kohl that framed her eyes – at least three or four millimetres thick was optimal for Ryu, she found.

Hearing another collection of distant chattering – a sound alarmingly similar to a group of angry apes warring with each other over a particularly fascinating rock – Pirika readjusted herself quickly. Taking another drag on the cigarette, she threw it on to the ground and stamped it out with her plastic heels as the gang of all too familiar faces approached from the black of the alleyway. At the head of the group was, characteristically, Ryu. His piercing eyes leered out at her from beneath his perfectly-styled hair as he strode cockily right up to her. She was forced to collapse back against the wall as he sucked noisily at her neck. Eventually he found her lips and kissed them hastily before taking her hand and giving it a pull to indicate that they were moving along. She saw the rest of Ryu’s undesirable crew staring intently after her, jeering amongst each other like pre-school children. Pirika shot them a look over her shoulder and took a few brisk steps to catch up to Ryu’s side, so that she was walking, rather than being dragged along. She’d been able to smell the alcohol on him before he’d even come near her – not to mention the smell of several other substances.

Frustrated by the lack of conversation, and desperate to shut out the sound of the cat-calls behind her, she put on a smile and affected that sickly sweet voice that Ryu seemed to respond to so well. “Hey baby, where are we goin’ tonight?”

She immediately regretted uttering a word as she was met with Ryu’s angry tones, that tonight sounded more ferocious than ever. “You know where we’re goin’. Same place as always. Why do you keep fuckin’ askin’?”

She clamped her lips shut, falling uncomfortably into the shadow of Ryu’s hulking figure. Finding she had to take two steps to every one of his, she scurried along in uneasy silence. She tried to count each of the streetlamps that fell upon them like searchlights, that orange glow filling her each time with a little bit of hope that Ryu wasn’t as pissed off as he seemed. Her heart sank further as she glanced up at his cold expression and they left the brief circles of light, and again and again, were plunged into darkness. When Ryu was angry, these nights were a world away from pleasant. And considering his troubles at home recently, though mostly self-inflicted, seeing him this way was becoming a common occurrence.

They came eventually to the gang’s usual hideout, Pirika’s stomach writhing in a mixture of relief and fear. The place itself was nothing spectacular, just a back alley walled in by abandoned buildings, the kind of space that could only carry on undisturbed in an area as deprived as this one. Any imprudent do-gooder that tried to clean up this part of town would be guaranteeing a death-wish for themselves if they lay a finger on anything Ryu deemed his territory.

Finally free from Ryu’s grip, Pirika took a seat on a broken plastic chair, salvaged from one of the surrounding abandoned offices. The rest of the gang settled in traditionally. She watched Space Shot activate the security light that looked over this small space, somehow was still functional after years of neglect. As usual B-Ball was to be seen unloading the alcohol and other necessary ‘supplies’ from a rucksack, piling them all in the centre of the mismatched bits of junk that served as seats. Ryu disappeared for a few minutes, leaving her at the mercy of the others. She shuffled uncomfortably as they all spluttered lewd things in her ears and grabbed at her tastelessly. She was forced to smile and humour them until Ryu returned, when they all scarpered like frightened animals. Ryu took a bottle of foul-smelling liquor from the collection and downed the bottle without flinching. The others scurried around rolling up joints and guzzling cheap beer as Ryu and a few choice others snorted a line from the top of an upturned crate. A bottle of something luminescent blue was pushed into Pirika’s shivering hands, and she drank it begrudgingly. After a while, the alcohol helped her view the men’s activities for what they were – simply results of a lethal cocktail of drink, drugs and testosterone. She sat back and observed them, half-amused, as she was offered a joint by Billy, which she took and smoked absent-mindedly. Eventually, she found she was able to dissociate enough from the situation to the point where it somehow became funny, and she sat giggling to herself, ignored.

The respite, however, didn’t last long. Just over an hour passed before Ryu pulled her up from her chair and led her into the back door of the building where ‘business’ was usually undertaken. The room had obviously once been a kitchen, with aging green tiles covering the floors and creeping miserably half-way up the pock-marked walls. Any usable appliances had long since been stripped from the room, and anything else left behind had been trashed, most likely by Ryu and the others. The floor was dirty and littered with cigarette butts and grime. The only thing left standing was one central kitchen unit, showing its age, but somehow cleaner than its squalid surroundings. Pirika headed straight for it and placed her bottle and purse down upon it, lest they touch any of the revolting litter and filth around their feet. The room was illuminated only by the small amount of light trickling through the pane-less windows that faced out on to the alleyway where the others sat. The light was stale and barely useful, and Pirika was appreciative of the fact that she couldn’t see Ryu’s stormy face. When the door was closed behind them, he made his way towards her and tugged swiftly at her azure hair.

She winced from the motion. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Your hair,” he stated. She could just make out the unnerving glint of his cruel eyes in the darkness.

Not following, she reacted to touch her ponytail with confusion. “What-?”

“I’m sorry, baby. I’ll fix it right now, see?” She grasped wildly at the band that was keeping her hair in the offending style. She _knew_ there was something wrong with her appearance. Ryu liked her hair down, it was _him_ that liked it in a ponytail...

He watched, unmoving, as her hair fell down to her waist and hung loosely around her face. She ran her shuddering fingers through the ends, unknotting it, ridding it from her eyes. She looked up at his shrouded face for a sign of approval, fear making her eyes sting.

She was met by a forceful, sloppy kiss that knocked her off balance and back on to the counter. Her bottle fell to the ground with a smash, to the sound of a cheer outside. She felt herself being pushed back further along the counter against her will, the hard surface making her shoulders burn. There was no passion in Ryu’s movements, simply an urgency to get this precursory ritual out of the way, and on to the main event. She felt her underwear disappear from between her legs and heard Ryu’s panting get louder. She tossed back her head so she didn’t have to see him undo his pants and climb awkwardly on top of her. She felt her purse digging into her thigh and tried to shift, without thinking. Ryu’s forceful fingers grabbed at her wrists and slammed them brutally against the plastic, holding her in place as he pushed himself inside her. She felt the clasp of her purse gnawing further at her leg with each repetitive motion, but she found she’d rather focus on the pain it brought her than to try to feel anything else right then. She heard the laughter of the others outside, saw a curious head peek through the window, and let her consciousness retreat inside herself. She resurfaced only when she felt that uncomfortable warmth between her legs and watched Ryu pull himself away. Back turned to her, he readjusted himself appropriately.

Knowing the arrangement well, she slid from the counter and retrieved her underwear. Her loose hair was tangled around her, some rebel strands having worked their way into her mouth. She spat them out, feeling sick from her solar plexus upwards, legs quivering with adrenaline as she tried to redress herself. She approached his turned back, offering to put her arms around him. He grunted and shrugged her off.

“I’ll send the others in,” he spoke warningly, not even so much as looking back at her.

She felt her insides wilt. She knew very well what that meant: there was a lot more of this to come tonight. Ryu looked like he wanted to hurt her, and he was choosing the best way of going about it.

Pushing some crumpled notes into her fingers, he kicked the door aside and stormed out to a hero’s welcome. The others peered through the door lecherously, trying to find her in the darkness. They jostled with one another, deciding in no diplomatic fashion who should go first.

Ryu’s callousness had stung harder than any slap to the face could have. She felt centimetres tall, and with the equivalent self-respect. Clutching her bruised wrists gingerly, she climbed back upon the counter. Lying back, she took off her own underwear, and waited for the first to enter.


	3. Chapter 3

Sipping the water from the tall glass in his hands certainly helped to clear his head. The chill of the it made his back teeth ache and numbed his hands as he held on to it. He looked up at Eliza, who was still watching him from across the room. She smiled softly, and turned her head back to the paperwork on the desk. He knew that she worried about him. In fact, she had to go out of her way many a time for him as a result of his drinking. Sometimes he managed to injure himself. Once, he had suffered severe dehydration from the sheer amount of alcohol he had ingested and the vomiting that followed. But no matter how irresponsible his actions were, Eliza and her husband never closed their doors on him.

Even now, though the clinic had been closed for hours, they didn't turn him away. When Horo arrived on the doorstep, exhausted and head spinning with Ren in his arms, Eliza had helped them inside, her usual concerned expression on her face. It wasn't long before Faust had appeared, and whisked Ren away into the emergency room, while Eliza was left to stay with the rather bleary-eyed Horo in the waiting room. It was here they now sat; Eliza pretending to busy herself with documents, and Horo slumped in a plastic chair, sipping slowly at the water with the high hope of alleviating the sickness that was bothering him so. He pressed his fingers to his temple, rubbing circles at the skin in an attempt to clear the ache that was growing there.

As usual, Eliza didn't miss a trick. “Can I get you some painkillers?”

“It's fine, really,” Horo insisted, closing his eyes. He heard the sound of Eliza putting her pen down on the desk.

“You know how bad this is for you, don't you, Horokeu? Why do you keep doing it to yourself?” Though her message was disapproving, there was not even a hint of anger in Eliza's voice. All he could hear was her worry.

Still, Horo sighed to himself. Every time he came here, they had the same conversation. But things never changed. Faust had gotten to the point where he just accepted it as a flaw of Horo's character, a part of him that would never go away. At first, Horo had been offered all the help under the sun. But each time, he flat out refused, until Faust just stopped asking altogether. But neither Faust nor his wife ever stopped caring for Horo. It was almost as if – having never reared any children of their own – they saw Horo as their troublesome teenage son. They were always the figures in his life that would not shirk away from scolding him, and also the only people who would help to clean his wounds, whether emotional or physical, after a stumble. It was an unspoken relationship, but Horo appreciated it deeply. There was nowhere else he'd rather go for help.

“Don't worry about me. I did this to myself, I can deal with the consequences. You should be worrying about him,” Horo said, opening his eyes and casting them subconsciously to the door of the emergency room.

“What happened to that poor boy?”

“I honestly don't know,” Horo slouched lower in the chair, tipping his head back so that it rested on the wall behind him. “I found him that way, I had to help him.”

“I'm glad you brought him to us,” Eliza said, smiling.

“Who else would I turn to?” Horo said, truthfully. Johann Faust and his wife were incredibly experienced practitioners of medicine. They had opened their small clinic in the middle of the city almost fourteen years ago, and though their patients were mostly elderly, their medical knowledge was second to none. Horo would have trusted no one else with the life of that mysterious young man. “Say, how long have they been in there now?”

“About half an hour. I'll check on them.” Eliza stood up and walked around the desk, smoothing down her pink uniform as she went. Her heels tapped loudly at the tiled floor as she headed for the emergency room door.

Horo breathed out deeply as he sank into the silence. He was feeling considerably better. He just hoped the same could be said for Ren. He thought for a moment over that thin frame and piercing golden eyes. He thought again of that peculiar old building and that haunting song. None of it made sense. He wondered if it was right to push Ren for answers, considering the state that he was in.

When the door opened, both Faust and Eliza emerged. Faust took long strides to reach the seat next to Horo. Eliza perched on the edge of the desk.

The doctor began pulling off his white examination gloves as he spoke, wrestling his fingers for a moment through his shock of blonde hair.

“The good news is he’ll be fine,” Faust said, in his gravelly German accent. “The bad news is that his recovery might be a slow one. No doubt you’ve already noticed his many external wounds – bruises, grazes, burns and pressure ulcers. Then there are the recent self-inflicted lacerations on his arms. But he also has numerous internal injuries, such as severe bruising to the ribs and evidence of broken and fractured bones that have recently healed. He also appears to be dehydrated and his BMI is completely irregular.”

Horo shook his head gently, willing away his queasiness as he listened to the terrible list.

Faust’s thin, bluish lips were pursed as he continued. “Then, there is some damage-“

“Wait, there’s more?” Horo interrupted, alarm in his voice.

“Unfortunately yes,” Faust sighed, the dark circles under his eyes looking blacker by the minute. “Things are rather serious, I’m afraid.”

Horo clutched his hand around his stomach and took a cautious sip of water. “I don’t think I want to hear any more.”

“But Horokeu, there is something…”

“Please, Faust. I can’t deal with this right now,” Horo pleaded.

Faust considered him for a moment, blue eyes passing over his trembling body. “Okay. For now.” The doctor got to his feet, standing to his full tremendous height. “I’m afraid we can’t offer your friend a bed, as you know.”

“Don’t worry, you’ve been a huge help already. I really appreciate it,” Horo forced a grateful smile. He was tired enough without having to spout pleasantries, but his conscience warned him against being impolite. “Can I go see him?”

Faust nodded, and Horo got to his feet. The floor quaked beneath him as he stood, threatening to knock him off balance. Faust caught his arm as though for support, but as he drew near, he put his mouth close to Horo’s ear and said, quietly, “Next time I see you… you’d better have a good explanation as to where you found this young man.” Faust’s suspicious expression made him uneasy and he glanced back to Eliza for reassurance. But she had already turned her back and was hunched over an open drawer in the desk. He nodded quickly and broke Faust’s grip, hurrying now to the emergency room door.

Inside, Ren lay motionless on a stretcher, his violet hair strewn across the pillow beneath his head. The tools of Faust’s trade lay neatly positioned on shelves and trolleys around the room. There were machines that monitored heart rate, blood pressure and myriad other devices that Horo didn’t even recognise. Thankfully, none of them were attached to Ren. He lay in peace, as though sleeping, beneath a plain white sheet.

As the door thudded shut behind him, Ren's eyes shot open, as wide as saucers. His hands gripped at the sheets beneath him desperately, as though scouting for something solid. His chest heaved with panicky breaths and his pupils searched wildly around the white-washed room.

Horo took a few brisk steps to Ren's bedside. “Hey, it's alright! I'm here.”

Ren turned his head sharply to look at him. “Where am I?” He demanded, tone vicious.

“It's okay, you're safe,” Horo insisted, gently. “I brought you to get some help. That's where you are.”

“No... no! I need to go back! Take me back!” The tears welled up in Ren's eyes, and his breathing became more erratic still. Horo watched beads of sweat roll down his face.

“You'll be able to go back! Soon!” Horo said. The lie came easy in his desperation to calm Ren down. He didn't know how true his statement was. He didn't know what Ren was doing in that old building, but whatever was going on, he wasn't even considering sending him back there.

“I... I can?” Horo watched Ren's fingers loosen on the sheets. The hope in his voice was almost heart-wrenching.

“Yes, soon,” Horo nodded. “Just wait a little while, and trust me, okay?”

Ren's eyes surveyed him silently. Horo felt the guilt sink over him as Ren nodded warily. But what else could he do? If Ren got himself any more worked up, considering his injuries, he could really have done himself some harm. Ren stared at him expectantly, as though waiting for some immediate instruction that would get him home there and then. Horo fidgeted uneasily under his unwavering gaze.

A full minute passed before Faust entered the room, breaking the uncomfortable silence. He walked straight over to Ren's bedside. “How are you feeling?”

Ren flinched, as though Faust were striking him rather than talking to him. He said nothing.

“I think he's a little shaken,” Horo answered for him. “But he seems to be fine. I think he just needs to rest.”

“Shall I help you bring him to the car?”

Horo watched the way Ren’s body was tensed, the way he glared at Faust defensively. “No, it's okay. I can handle it. Can you just wait outside for us please?”

Faust left, with a nod of assent. As the door closed behind him, Ren’s voice wavered out with concern.

“Did that man... touch me?”

Horo turned back to look at him, and saw the tears resurfacing. “No, he hasn't,” Horo lied again, shaking his head softly.

Ren looked up at him once more with that worried stare. He watched the look sink into trust as Ren nodded again, satisfied.

“Now, you're going to have to come with me,” Horo said, as gently as he could.

“Where are we going?”

“To my place. It's safe there too. There’s a car waiting outside to take us.” He found himself talking to Ren as though he were a child, though he couldn’t say why. Judging by his appearance, he must have only been a few years younger than Horo himself. Yet he gave off an air of innocence that, when coupled with his blind trust, gave him an undeniably childlike quality. At least thinking like that made it so much easier to lie to him.

“I know you don't like people to touch you, and that's fine. It just means that you're going to have to walk to the car yourself. Do you think you can do that?”

Ren thought for a moment, then nodded. Without another word, he shuffled carefully to the end of the bed. Horo stood nearby, in case he needed to catch hold of him. He gently slid off, feet touching the ground delicately.

“Everything okay?” Horo asked.

Another nod, more determined this time. He hung back to let Horo led the way. Eliza waited at the exit with Horo’s coat in her hands. Ren looked about, puzzled, as Horo placed it over his bare shoulders. His filthy cotton shift had been replaced with a clean white hospital gown, but it wasn’t any more modest.

“I hope you feel better,” Eliza nodded at Ren. “We’ll see you in a few days.”

Horo grinned apologetically when Ren didn’t respond. “Good night. Thank Faust again for me too.”

Ren was focused outside, and as he followed Horo out in to the street, his pupils danced wildly, trying desperately to take in the sights around him. The night was well into its stretch, the darkness penetrated only by the countless street lamps lining the city streets. Despite the hour, cars still careered down the road, their engines intrusive to the silence. A few people walked by, laughing and talking, no doubt on their way home after a long night of partying. Their taxi sat in front of them, its engine impatiently running. Horo opened one of the rear doors and signalled for Ren to get inside. But Ren was looking everywhere except in his direction. He was transfixed with the world around him, recoiling a little at the sound of a car horn, and staring intently after a couple that walked by, holding on to each other. He craned his neck to look up into the night sky and see the full height of the buildings that towered above them.

“Ren?”

At the sound of his name, Ren looked back suddenly, as though shocked to hear it.

Horo smiled gently, and gestured again. “Come on.”

Ren's eyes fell now to the car in front of him. Horo watched him tug the jacket on his shoulders tighter around himself as he realised what Horo was telling him to do. “It's okay, I'm coming with you. You're safe.”

Ren gingerly approached the open door. He crawled on his hands and knees on to the seat, then shuffled around so that he could sit down.

“Fasten your seatbelt, okay?” Horo said, smiling to him one last time and closing the door. He climbed into the passenger seat, where the driver waited solemnly behind the wheel. He was a weary middle-aged man with a long nose and gnarled knuckles. His car smelt like sickly incense.

“Is everything alright?” the man asked.

“Yeah, everything's fine.” Horo turned around to look back at Ren. “Ren, your seatbelt,” he reminded him.

Ren stared blankly in response.

Horo frowned to himself as he took hold of his own seatbelt and pulled it in demonstration. “Like this?” He clicked it into place, and looked to Ren for a response. The driver watched with curiosity through the rear-view mirror.

Ren looked around himself, first right, then left. Spotting the belt, he took hold of it and pulled on it unsurely. He stared at Horo, waiting for acknowledgement.

“Um, that's right,” Horo said. As Ren pulled it across himself and looked with confusion at the clasp, Horo exchanged an awkward glance with the driver. He sighed and, undoing his own belt, reached over to help him. That done, he settled back into his seat. “Sorry, we're ready now.” He gave the man an apologetic smile.

Horo peeked through the wing mirror, to see Ren’s face was full of anxiety as the car pulled out into the road.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

Horo gave him the address and the man nodded knowingly, as though the street name alone explained everything about his strange passengers. Horo had no heart to defend himself, and instead leant his head against the cold glass of the car window, already deep in thought. He closed his eyes against the intrusive glare of the street lamps whizzing by outside. He clasped his hands together in his lap, feeling the last remains of the alcohol in his system fighting weakly to affect him. The short journey to his home was an opportunity to absorb his thoughts in himself, to ignore the fact that Ren was sitting in the back seat seemingly terrified of something yet unbeknown, and Faust was at home now feeling somewhat suspicious of him. His mind was brimming over with thoughts – the furious buzzing of worries that he drank copiously to silence, now topped with this new wonder and concern about Ren.

He had never wished more that he could simply stop thinking. He felt his mind slipping in and out of the troubled haze that often heralded his sleep. It was a welcome sensation, but he knew it could not last much longer. After a few moments, he risked an unwilling peek from beneath his eyelids, to see they were pulling into the street he recognised as home. He groaned quietly as the car came to a halt outside a rather miserable-looking tower block. He shuffled uncomfortably in his seat as he looked up at it with dread _._ The building was nothing special – one of those concrete monstrosities put up for speed rather than quality. There must have been hundreds of people inhabiting the block, with none of them living in particularly favourable conditions. But Horo could do little better; yet on the other hand, he was sure he could do a lot worse. With the heaviness that the sight of this building brought in his heart, he turned to look at Ren with a weak smile on his face. “We're here.”

Ren was biting his lip, his knuckles white from gripping so tightly on the seat's edge. He looked to Horo in desperation.

“Ren, what's wrong with you?” Horo asked, noticing how completely terrified he looked.

“C-Can I... get out now?” Ren questioned, his voice quiet and shaky.

“Yeah, you can. Let me help you.” Horo climbed out of the car. When he opened the rear door, he found Ren struggling furiously with his seatbelt. “Hey, wait! Calm down, let me help you.”

Ren pushed himself right back in his seat as Horo reached across him, desperately trying to avoid any form of contact. As soon as the belt came loose and Horo stepped back, Ren scrambled urgently out of the car. As his feet touched the ground, a look of relief passed over his face. Horo watched him, perplexed, before turning to pay the driver through the open window. Although he couldn’t afford it, Horo felt obliged to let him keep the change. The car pulled carefully out into the night and Ren’s golden eyes stared after it right until it had vanished from sight.

“Come on, let's get you inside,” Horo said. He took the lead, and sure enough, Ren followed obediently.

Together, they headed towards the building's entrance - one heart weary; the other, unfathomable.


	4. Chapter 4

The familiar smell of vomit and urine hit him the moment he stepped through the door. Horo coughed in disgust, and he watched Ren’s nose wrinkle delicately as he followed. Horo looked towards the elevator doors that would take him with considerable ease to his apartment floor. He remembered the late hour, and thought better of it.

“We'll take the stairs,” Horo explained to Ren. “I don't trust the elevator at night.”

Horo took a right, and passed through another beaten door. The deep red paint splashed upon it was chipping away mercilessly. Horo put his foot on the first step, beginning the gruelling six floor trek to his level. The carpet beneath his feet was without a doubt the main perpetrator of the terrible stench that plagued the air. The once-sophisticated shade of burgundy was now more the colour of dried blood, riddled with stains and pools that were unmistakeably of human origin. Each step brought a cloud of foul-smelling dust flying up beneath his feet, making a sharp taste hit the back of his throat. As he reached the top of the first staircase, he looked back to check on Ren. Despite his injuries, he didn't seem fazed by the climb. He walked along slowly, his feet as heavy as feathers on the exhausted old staircase. His eyes darted about him as they had done all night, absorbing his surroundings.

Satisfied, Horo continued on, taking care not to touch the yellow-stained wallpaper on his way around the corner. He paused only at the top of each staircase to briefly check on Ren's progress. It passed vaguely through his mind that Faust must have given Ren quite a number of painkillers to prevent him from feeling the pain of those extensive injuries. He half-wondered if Ren would have an objection to that too, if he knew _._ At the top of the third flight, his knees started to quiver with exhaustion. By the time the sixth floor came into view, he felt just about ready to collapse. He'd been out since eight o'clock this morning – first, to work, then out for 'just one' drink as usual, and then... all this. He desperately wanted the day to end. Exiting on to floor six, he became intensely aware of how dry his mouth felt. Holding the door open for Ren to pass through, he turned and smiled wearily to Ren. “This is it.”

Digging deep into his jacket pocket, he pulled out the keys to apartment 6A. The door creaked open, squeaking horribly on its old hinges. Horo stepped back to allow Ren inside, and he obliged nervously. Horo's heart grew heavy as he stepped inside, straight into the living room. There was not much there to speak of; a few pieces of mismatched furniture and a swift coat of industrial beige paint. The carpet was similar to that of the communal hallway, only considerably cleaner. A rather aged TV set sat in the corner of the room, large and ungraceful. It balanced on top of a small bedside table Horo had salvaged from someone's waste, the corners of the machine overlapping every side of it. The large sofa was a stale blue hue, and was probably the newest-looking object in Horo's possession. This sat awkwardly beside a red gingham-covered armchair, an item Horo despised, but was bound to keeping purely for utility. In the rather meagre-looking window hung some dreary blue curtains that barely served their purpose and let chinks of light in from all sides. Aside from a plain-looking coffee table arranged neatly between the seats, there was little else inhabiting the room at all.

“Pirika?” Horo called out, the sound vaguely echoing from the bareness of the walls. No reply followed.

“...Pirika?” Ren looked up at Horo questioningly.

“My sister,” Horo answered simply, setting his keys down on the coffee table and walking over to a door that led directly off the living room – Pirika’s bedroom. He peeped inside half-heartedly. There was little point, he knew very well that she wasn’t there.

“...Where is she?”

“Who knows?” Horo shrugged, heading now to his small kitchen. Moving more by instinct than conscious thought, he flicked on the light switch, grabbed two glasses from the cupboard and filled them with water. He turned, to find Ren staring at him from the doorway and he pushed the drink into his small hands. Gazing unseeingly at the cityscape through his kitchen window, Horo downed his in one.

“Do you want to take a shower or anything?”

Ren shook his head again, the glass ignored.

Horo he leant gently against the worktop. “Well, I don't know about you, but I think I'm ready to call it a day. Let me show you where you can sleep.”

Ren shook his head once more, this time, with increased vigour.

“Hm? Is something up?”

“I need to do something... before I sleep.”

“What is it?”

“There's a ritual I must perform,” Ren said, matter-of-factly. His voice had suddenly taken on a more formal tone, as though Horo was someone he must show reverence to.

“A _ritual_?” Horo frowned with confusion. “What do you mean?”

“If it's no trouble to you, I just need a few simple tools for the task.”

“I can try my best, I suppose...” Horo said. Against his better judgement, he knew the only way to find out what this ‘ritual’ was to let Ren go through with it. “What is it you need?”

“Just a candle... and something to light it with.”

The 'tools' sounded harmless enough. And perhaps the best way to settle Ren into his new surroundings was to let him do what he knew as routine. “Wait there, I'll be right back.” Walking carefully past Ren, Horo headed again for Pirika's bedroom door.

The transparency of Pirika's thin curtains meant he didn't need a light to see inside. Pirika's messy bed lay untouched, as it had done for three consecutive nights. Horo noticed a pile of clothes on top of the blankets – new, and expensive, if he wasn't mistaken. She must have at least dropped in while he was at work. He tried to ignore his growing concerns for his younger sister's well-being, and turned instead to the task at hand.

The haphazard shelf attached to the wall beside her bed held many trinkets and treasures. Most of it silly little things from their childhood. Horo noticed the wooden bead bracelet he had carved for her as a child. His fingers lingered over it lovingly, before he reached out and took hold of the large white candle near the right edge of the shelf. Next to it, a box of matches conveniently lay. He picked these up too, and fighting the urge to take one more glance at Pirika's empty bed, he returned to join Ren. He found him staring up at an old wooden cross Pirika had hung on the living room wall, back when they first moved into this place. His glass of water was discarded, untouched, on the coffee table.

“This okay?” He asked, holding up the candle.

Ren nodded. Without a word, he fell to his knees beneath the cross, looking at Horo expectantly. His hands pulled tightly at the gown he wore to ensure that it covered him as he kneeled. It barely did. Horo looked awkwardly back to the candle in his hand. “Shall I, um, give you some privacy for this?”

Ren's face frowned delicately as he said, “I'm used to having an audience.”

“Um... I suppose you want this then?” Horo said, indicating again to the candle. He placed it down on the floor in front of him. “Is this alright?”

Ren nodded, his gaze intent.

“Should I light it for you?” Horo asked carefully, musing to himself that Ren's tiny fingers didn't even look capable of striking a match.

“Yes...”

Horo slid open the box of matches and took one from the half-empty packet. Closing it once more, he placed the head of the match against the rough strip on the side of the box. He stopped for a second, taking another curious look at that focused stare on Ren's face, those golden eyes burning with concentration. With a flick of the wrist, he struck the match.

The head burst into flame, flickering reds and yellows. Silently, Horo set the match to the candle's wick. It caught quickly – soon, it too was decorated with a tiny dancing flame, beautifully dangerous. With still no response from Ren, Horo shuffled back across the floor to give him some room. Shaking the match in his hands to put it out, he settled back to watch, heart beginning to race. An air of reverence seemed to fall about the room that made even Horo feel nervous. Ren's demeanour had completely changed. He was engrossed, eyes not shifting even slightly away from the candle, as though he were keeping it alight through sheer force of will. Then, without warning, an incredible sound pierced the air.

Horo almost jumped out of his skin, the sound sudden in the tense silence. It was forceful, it demanded to be heard, but at the same time, it was wonderful. It took a moment for Horo to realise, in his haze of the day, that the sound was one he had heard once before: Ren was _singing._

“ _Lord, teach us how to pray aright, with reverence and with fear; though dust and ashes in Thy sight, we may, we must, draw near...”_

Just as before, the song was unmistakeably a hymn. Yet Ren's voice was so pleasing to the ears, no church choir could ever hope to best it. Horo watched Ren's pale lips moving with the words, producing a sound they barely seemed capable of. His whole body seemed somehow strengthened by the song, his frail limbs seemingly fortified beyond belief. Horo watched on, captivated, as Ren clasped his hands together in his lap and turned his face skyward. The singing got louder, more confident, as Ren lost himself in the melody.

“ _God of all grace, we bring to thee, a broken, contrite heart; give what Thine eye delights to see, truth in the inward part...”_

The words seemed to make Ren glow with passion, pools of tears welling in those deep eyes. Horo was taken aback by the sheer devotion in Ren's voice – something he couldn't imagine coming from any human, much less one so timid and weak. Despite everything, Ren's voice did not falter. It stayed as pitch-perfect and as beautiful as before. Horo watched the flame from the candle dance as though in time, throwing shimmering reflections on to the walls of the room, fighting against the artificial light.

Slowly and deliberately, Ren's hands began to move. Horo watched them intently, feeling his intrigue grow by the second. Ren unknotted his hands from their place in his lap, and held out now his right index finger. He sang on.

“ _Faith in the only sacrifice that can for sin atone...”_

Ren closed his eyes, his face still turned upwards, as he moved this single finger towards the candle. He held it but a centimetre from the flame, as Horo gazed on in amazement. Then slowly, subtly, Ren's finger lowered, down towards the heart of the fire.

“ _To cast our hopes, to fix our eyes, on Ch-Christ, on Christ alone...”_

The falter in Ren's voice was all too obvious to Horo as he realised what Ren was doing. He kept his finger still for another five seconds. Another five. The smell of charring flesh caught Horo's attention, as he watched Ren's face wrinkle up in agony.

“Ren...” Horo murmured, eyes wide with astonishment.

Ren was oblivious, as focused as he was. A few seconds later, and he moved another finger to the candle's flame. The fire licked around it as he lowered it into the heat's centre.

“ _Patience to watch, and wait, and weep, though m-mercy long-”_

“Wait, stop that!” Horo cried out, springing towards Ren before he even realised that he had done so. Subconsciously, he had caught hold of Ren's arm to pull it away from the flame. Ren stared at him now blankly.

It took a second for his face to regain personality and his startled cry to burst out. “I told you not to touch me!” He snatched away his arm, terrified, and shuffled away from Horo.

“What the hell was that? You really could have hurt yourself!” Horo exclaimed, completely shaken. He took a look at the offending candle and doused it immediately. “Let me see your hand,” Horo instructed.

Ren shook his head rapidly, clutching his arm close to his chest. The disposition that had come over him had now gone completely. He was back to himself, child-like and hesitant. Horo tried to ignore the change.

“I won't touch you. Just let me see.” Horo said, a little gentler this time.

Ren considered for a moment. Then, hesitantly, he held out his right hand.

Horo's eyes settled straight on the two fingers that he had just seen Ren deliberately burn. They were hard to miss – entirely bright red from the tips to the first joint. On closer inspection, Horo noticed something else, beneath the initial redness. Small white blotches that he soon identified as blisters plagued the skin around Ren's fingers, in a pattern alarmingly similar to his current burns.

“Do you... do this a lot?” Horo asked, face screwed up partially in horror, partially in disgust.

Ren stared down at the wounds, dumb-founded. He withdrew his hands, cradling it to his chest. “I didn’t do that.”

“Ren, I just saw you do it. You don’t need to lie to me.”

Ren looked affronted. He took a private glance back down at his fingers, shielding them from Horo’s view. “I don’t know how it happened.”

Horo sighed to himself, feeling the sickness rise back into his stomach again. “I'm not gonna try and understand right now. I think what we need to do is clean up those wounds. Come on.” Horo got to his feet, waiting for Ren to follow. He did so without objection. Horo led him into the kitchen, where he turned on the tap. “Here, hold your fingers under there for a while.”

“Why?”

“Because it will cool your skin down and stop the burn worsening,” Horo explained. “Please, just do it.”

Ren placed his fingers under the stream of cold water. He stared out of the window solemnly, seemingly indifferent to the pain and discomfort he was no doubt experiencing. Horo didn't dare to wonder why. He leant back against the worktop, still watching his troubled face. Horo supposed he was concerned about the interruption of his ritual. But it wasn’t as though he could stand back and let him harm himself yet again. Judging by what Faust had said, he was already sufficiently ill. Horo reassured himself; he must be cruel to be kind. He tried to change the subject. “I can let you borrow a change of clothes, if you need them.”

“I can't. Am I done now?” Ren asked, impatiently.

“You can't? I don’t think you’ll be able to walk around in that forever,” Horo said, eyeing the hospital gown that Eliza had dressed him in.

“I _can't,_ ” Ren said, more sternly this time. “Can I stop doing this now?”

Horo sighed again, turning the tap off and holding out a cloth for Ren to dry his hands on.

Ren took it and used it carefully. He handed it back to Horo without a word.

“Any better?” Horo asked, nodding towards Ren's hands.

“A little,” Ren said, dismissively. He turned away slightly, an obvious sign that he wasn’t willing to talk.

Horo withstood the silence only for a few seconds before he spoke up. “Come on, you can take my bed tonight.” Leading Ren out of the kitchen, he stepped into his own bedroom. He switched on the light and Ren followed him inside.

The room – much like the rest of the apartment – was minimalist in decoration, and small in size and proportion. Inside, only three pieces of furniture existed: the bed, a rather rickety-looking wardrobe, and a very old-fashioned chest of drawers. They contained all of Horo's worldly possessions – which admittedly, were few. Horo turned to Ren and smiled apologetically. “I'll take the sofa tonight. You can sleep here.”

“Where?” Ren asked, looking around the room blankly.

“There, of course,” Horo said, pointing out the bed in the corner of the room.

“Oh...” Ren looked at it as though confused by its existence.

“Will you be alright?”

Ren nodded.

“Well... good night,” Horo said, knowing to not even bother waiting for a response. He stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. He remained outside for just a second to listen. He didn't hear Ren move at all. He sighed, shaking his head. He felt awkward, completely puzzled by how to act around Ren and how to respond to him. Everything Horo said was met with a vacant look, or a cryptic nod. He truly felt as though he was treading on eggshells around this stranger, not knowing what was next going to invoke a seemingly illogical reaction.

He had a feeling Ren wouldn't be going to bed left to his own devices like that, but he was again starting to reach that point of not caring. The moment he was alone, his exhaustion crept up on him. His body grew heavy, and his limbs felt flaccid. His mind – having overworked that night through both confusion and alcohol – merely sounded now like white noise.

Absent-mindedly picking up the candle that still sat squarely in the middle of the floor, he placed it on the coffee table and fell back heavily on to the sofa. He lay his head against a cushion, and within a few moments, he was sound asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

The industrial wasteland of the city was deserted no matter what the hour. During the day, the only movement to speak of was litter and debris shifting in the breeze, the only noise that of the wind as it whistled its way through the neglected remains of the buildings. At this late hour, the occasional bat could be spied departing from the dilapidated rooftops, but to observe anything more than that was luck indeed.

The sombre moonlight shone feebly upon the dirt track that was so rarely traversed these days. It glanced the top of the non-descript ruins, each of them glistening like tombstones, in memoriam of the corporate cash cows they used to be. There was one building however, a long abandoned factory, that did not seem to emanate the same feeling of desolation as the others between which it stood. Upon careful consideration, it could be perceived that light was softly ebbing from the windows of the second floor – those of the first floor having been completely boarded over.

Inside the building, there was even more a sight to behold: an assembly of mismatched pews that were slowly filling with people, garbed in black and wearing austere expressions usually only affected at a wake. Hushed whispers were passed between them as they took their seats, crossing their hands neatly in their laps as they did so, all eyes turning to face the low altar in front of them. Upon the crates that formed the rudimentary altar, stood two ornately decorated candle holders, wrought from cast iron, and a statue of an unusual figure, carved from stone. An air of expectancy rattled around this unlikely audience as they sat patiently, waiting.

Only one figure remained standing in the congregation; he was a teen with a soft face that belied his true age, his rounded features framed subtly with emerald green hair. His eyes, wide and charming, glittered jade with the curiosity synonymous with childish innocence. He was small in stature, and no more imposing than a frightened animal, but an enormous sense of loyalty resonated from the young man, so intense it was almost intimidating. Dressed attentively in the expected black apparel, he was busying himself with the task entrusted to him: to light the candles for the night’s meeting. He travelled with haphazard excitement between the six well-positioned candelabras in the room, three on each side of the pews, lighting each one as he went.

As he held out the torch, his hand shook gently, his mind reeling with anticipation. Not only had he been trusted with this current task, but he had also been asked to perform a _reading_. Very few people actually took part in the giving of the services. Only the most dedicated of members were chosen for that duty, he had heard. He had been told on several occasions of the promise he showed, and these statements only strengthened his personal, well-guarded belief that Samjaza had taken somewhat of a shine to him. With this thought in mind, he took just an extra few minutes to iron out his shirt before he left the house, and pressed his trousers with additional care. Looking down at himself now, he almost smiled. Catching himself short, he glanced around; ensuring that nobody had witnessed his momentary lapse in concentration. Confident that everyone’s attention was firmly fixed upon the altar, he resumed the carefully regulated expression of asceticism, and focused once more upon his task. He cast his eyes downwards to look at the candle he was currently lighting – the third of the six that surrounded the seating area. There were also the two that sat upon the altar, but only one person was to deal with those.

He took a moment to glance up at the people assembled, considering them all with interest. He had only been here a short time, but already he had learned the real and Given names of everybody here. Some of them had been attending for months. Some, years. He was by far the newest addition to the group. And to think, he was already surpassing them all! His heart leapt at the thought, and his foot snagged on the candelabra as he tried to walk away. It span dangerously on its thin cast iron legs, and he watched with horror as it clattered to the ground. Everyone turned to look with a start, and the room fell silent. He fell clambering to the floor, desperately trying to rescue the fallen candle – extinguished, but rolling slowly away. In the corner of his vision, he saw a tall figure rise up from the front-most pew, glasses glinting disapprovingly in the low candlelight.

“Suriel,” the menacing yet dulcet tones of the man called Marco echoed out in the silence. “Please, take more care when performing your duties.”

“Y-Yes, Arakiel...” Lyserg stuttered, taking the candle in his hands. He felt the warm wax subside beneath his fingertips as he clenched his fist around it, agitation building inside of him. He rose slowly to his feet, trembling with embarrassment as he picked up the stand and placed it back where it belonged. Marco continued to watch him for a few more moments before returning to his seat. Gradually, everybody else turned away. Lyserg continued on to the next candle, head hung low in shame. His cheeks felt hotter than the flame he was carrying. How predictable, for him to falter in front of Arakiel, Samjaza’s right hand. He cursed himself silently, wondering by how much he had just dented his reputation.

The sound of the large metal door opening echoed around the room. Right on cue, everyone in the pews dropped to their knees. With a fresh panic setting over him, he lit the final candle and dashed back to his place. He fell to his knees alongside the others, eyes closed tight and hands clasped together against his chest, just like everyone else. For a moment, he realised that he had just scuffed the knees of his neatly-pressed trousers. He hastily pushed the thought away, heart racing, as footsteps sounded across the room. There was complete silence, but for the echo of shoes on the dirt that covered the floor. They continued on, confidently, striding with an air of importance between the two rows of pews. Lyserg felt the rush of air that meant Samjaza had just walked right by him. He squeezed his eyes tighter still, feeling himself giving in to the temptation to peek. He sensed the presence climb upon the altar, accompanied by the sound of shoes on wood. A moment of tense silence passed, and the orange light filtering through his eyelids grew brighter as the two altar candles were lit.

He felt his heart pounding throughout his entire body as the excitement grew greater still. This part was always the hardest. The inexplicable urge to look upon Samjaza was hard to fight away. Never before had Lyserg met a man he so thoroughly admired. The want to please and serve him was the strongest desire Lyserg had ever felt. This was why the excitement for today had consumed him, had been occupying him for days. To be one of the leader’s most trusted… he was sure he would want for nothing more after he had achieved that honour.

“My friends,” the voice was brimming with fortitude, measured yet somehow joyful. “Good evening.”

Lyserg knew it could only be the voice of one man. Just like everyone else, his eyes opened wide at last. Only now were they allowed to look upon him – Samjaza, the man he so revered. He clasped his fingers tighter together as he saw the slender figure upon the altar, arms opened warmly to them all and addressing them with a vigour that seemed to come quite naturally.

“Thank you for coming here tonight. I’m sorry I join you so late. Now, on with the proceedings. Arakiel.” He looked towards Marco and nodded in his direction.

From his prominent position on the front pew, Marco inclined his head both in response and respect, and got to his feet. His task didn’t need to be made any clearer to him, nor to anyone else. With a brisk stride, he left the bubble of candlelight that surrounded the centre of the room, and headed towards the corner, concealed in the darkness, to a set of stairs that led to the basement of the building. The sound of him descending was muffled, but audible. Lyserg looked forward to the day he would be entrusted with such a task.

“Please, be seated,” Samjaza instructed his audience, watching them in silent regard. At his command, everyone settled themselves back on to the hard wood of the pews, hands folded into their laps. Lyserg sat up straight and proud, face turned up towards Samjaza with a serious and focused expression. His heart was still racing. He willed it to slow, lest the pounding of it against his chest distract him from the service. Today was so important…

“Very soon we will commence our night’s duties,” Samjaza continued. “However, we do have a few small additions to tonight’s service. First of all, our newest member, Suriel, will be doing a reading for us.”

For a fleeting moment, Samjaza beamed with his usual ease in Lyserg’s direction. Lyserg smiled back with pride at his Given name, forgetting his place for just that instant. His stomach wriggled with nerves as the weight of his upcoming task truly fell upon him.

“And secondly, there is a-“

Suddenly, the sound of frantic footsteps cut Samjaza’s speech short. The feet clattered up the stairs and towards where they all sat at a speed indicative of panic. Samjaza turned around with an unusual expression of alarm as Marco appeared again in the glow of the candlelight. He was panting heavily, eyes wide with shock. He fell to his knees before the leader and cried out in a voice wavering with emotion, “It’s Ren… Ren has gone!”

Almost instantly, a wave of alarmed chatter rippled through the crowd. Lyserg glanced around with sheer disbelief, settling his eyes with a hope of comfort upon the face of the leader. He felt those hopes shatter horribly as he saw the beads of sweat on Samjaza’s forehead. When he spoke, his voice jarred with an ill-hidden panic. “You’re sure? You’ve checked everywhere?”

“Yes, everywhere! He’s nowhere to be seen!” Marco exclaimed, fists clenched tightly together and eyes quivering with panic.

Samjaza was frozen to the spot. He remained like this for a few seconds before jumping down from the altar and calling out, “We have to find him.” There was not only panic but also anger in his words that shook Lyserg to hear. He marched with fury past Marco in a way that screamed disappointment. Not even so much as glancing back to reassure his followers, he disappeared off into the darkness, storming off towards the stairs. A few of the more senior members leapt to their feet and followed him with blind loyalty. Marco remained on his knees in the dirt, looking thoroughly ashamed. Lyserg wondered why he looked so concerned for his own well-being. Surely Samjaza couldn’t put any blame on him for this?

Lyserg sat obediently on his pew, waiting for the leader to return. Twiddling his thumbs together, he looked with sorrowful eyes at the bookmark placed in the Bible in front of him. This night was not going as he had planned.


	6. Chapter 6

When seven o’clock came the following morning, Horo had already been awake for hours. His sleep had been deep for a blissful few hours, until he was rudely awoken by his stomach making movements that gave the impression it might just jump right out of him. For hours he had had his head hanging inside the toilet bowl, watching the follies of the previous night returning to haunt him in reverse. The smell of bleach and the cold of the porcelain against his skin were a familiar discomfort, but they still made his eyes weep and body quiver against his will.

Emerging from the bathroom for what felt like the hundredth time, water still streaming down his face and body shaking residually, he glanced up at the clock once more. The time he had been anticipating had finally crawled around, after watching the clock hands move at an agonising speed all through the night. He slumped back down on to the sofa, dabbing at his pallid face with a towel. Having been awake for so long, he had plenty of time to rethink the events of the night before, but was still bewildered by their nature. He would have called himself an intoxicated liar had there not been a timid, violet-haired stranger now inhabiting his bedroom. When the thought of Ren came into his mind, his eyes wandered towards the door absent-mindedly. Come to think of it, he hadn’t heard the stranger stir all night, despite the amount of noise he had been making, falling over himself in his haste to get to the bathroom before he turned the already beaten couch a charming shade of yellow.

Either way, he had already resolved that he was going to have to wake Ren, thanks to seven o’clock barging rather rudely into the world. As much as he wanted to forget, it was time for him to go to work. With his head deep inside the toilet bowel, Horo had had some time to contemplate what to do with Ren while he saw to his tasks for the day. He had resolved within the first few moments that Faust and Eliza weren’t an option, with a busy day running the clinic ahead of them and no spare beds to speak of. He couldn’t possibly trouble them anymore. Pirika was nowhere to be seen, and thinking about it, he wouldn’t trust her with him anyway. He couldn’t imagine leaving Ren to himself, considering his current physical condition and the self-destructive nature he had already displayed. He decided with another moment of hesitation that he would take Ren to work with him. It was the plan that inconvenienced the least people, and meant he could keep a close enough eye on him that would satisfy his concern.

Having already showered twice in an attempt to get the smell of alcohol and vomit from his hair, Horo sought out his uniform, tossed unceremoniously over the back of the chair. Putting it on with no misgivings about the creases it had developed over night, he slung on a headband to push back his unruly hair, and headed for the bedroom door. He knocked on it lightly and called out, “Ren?”

Putting his ear to the door, he heard no response. He knocked again, harder this time. “Ren? I’m coming in, okay?”

Not bothering to wait now, Horo pushed aside the door. He was greeted immediately with the sight of Ren, sat in the corner directly opposite the door, stuffed against the walls as though trying to cram himself between the bricks and mortar. His unforgiving stare was fixed on the door, and Horo made himself subject to it the moment he stepped inside. Ren was quivering, barely covered at all by the hospital gown he still insisted on wearing. The skin around his eyes was so dark and stretched, it was evident he’d had very little sleep at all. Curiously enough, the bed also looked untouched. After surveying him, Horo stepped towards him carefully, and those golden eyes followed his every movement. Ren hugged his knees tighter to his chest as he approached.

He crouched down to Ren’s level, looking to him with fresh concern. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

Ren stared without a word, as though seeing right through him. He remained this way for an uncomfortable period of time, as lifeless and fragile as a porcelain doll. Horo half thought about gently shaking him, assuming him to be in some state of sleep. Before he could move to do so, Ren’s pupils suddenly began to move wildly, drinking in his every detail. He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way. “It’s morning, you know. How are you feeling?”

Ren nodded in response – an answer which could have meant anything.

“I have to go to work soon. Do you think you’ll be able to come with me?”

Ren’s nod came immediately after the question. Horo wondered if he’d even taken the time to consider the request. But as he seemed so cooperative, Horo wasn’t about to explore the issue. “Well, you’re going to have to get ready. You can borrow some of my clothes for the day, if you need them.”

“No!” Ren’s voice suddenly erupted out of him, as sudden as a firecracker in the darkness and twice as loud. His forehead creased as he frowned. “I can’t.”

Horo was surprised, but this time, stayed stern. He couldn’t possibly take Ren out in decent society wearing the gown. “I’m sorry, Ren. You haven’t got a choice.”

Ren’s expression was somewhere between a scowl and look of pure despair. “I can’t,” he repeated, weaker this time.

Horo sighed heavily. This was something he couldn’t let up on, he told himself. Just one look at the length of that meagre stretch of material made him blush. “If there’s one thing I want you to do for me, it’s this. Please.”

Ren gazed up at him with pleading eyes, like those of a scolded pet. And like a pet, his loyalty was unwavering. After a moment and what seemed like a battle raging in Ren’s mind, he finally nodded, albeit hesitantly.

Horo smiled reassuringly. “It won’t be all that bad, I swear. Here, I’ll go find something out for you.” He got to his feet and headed to his wardrobe, Ren watching his every move with cautious eyes. He immediately set about digging around in the heap of garments, looking for his oldest, and smallest, items.

Ren was far smaller than he was – both in height, and in stature. Not even his oldest clothes would fit him properly. However, Horo soon realised that the choice was out of his hands. He began to notice Ren’s reaction from the corner of his eye as he passed over various items. If he touched anything that seemed to be brightly coloured or heavily detailed, Ren’s small nose wrinkled up in distaste. It was through observing this behaviour, and a system of trial and error, that Horo finally decided on a simple pale blue sweatshirt and dark coloured jeans. Turning to Ren with the clothes in his hands, he asked, “Are these alright?”

Ren nodded slowly, obviously resigned to his fate. He seemed somewhat surprised that Horo had made such a welcome choice.

“Now… you can use the shower, right?” Horo said, attempting a joke, but finding his impatience showing through a little too obviously.

Ren looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded again.

Horo felt a vague sense of relief. At least there wouldn’t have to be another battle for that cause. Handing Ren the clothes, he gently ushered him into the bathroom. Switching on the shower for him, just in case, he left him alone. He busied himself in the kitchen, preparing toast for them both. He wolfed down his own and returned to the living room with Ren’s share on a plate. As he entered, he found Ren had also reappeared. Upon first seeing him, Horo had to do a double-take.

Ren was fully dressed and wearing the old clothes better than Horo ever had. They were still much too big for him, but he carried them in a way that made their bagginess almost look fashionable. He had style his hair perfectly into a spike at the back, using what products Horo couldn’t guess. His face shone with renewed energy and Horo had to shake his head to stop himself from staring. If he was honest, he had expected Ren to completely fail to put on the outfit. He was pleasantly surprised.

“You look… great, Ren.”

There was a pinkness in Ren’s cheeks as he tugged derisively on the bottom of the sweatshirt. He looked embarrassed, as though someone else had dressed him.

“Um, here,” Horo passed the plate he was holding into Ren’s hands. “I made this for you.”

Horo bustled around the apartment getting together the last of his things. Noticing the time, he ushered Ren out of the door, only noticing at the last moment that the toast lay discarded, untouched, on the arm of the sofa.

\--

Horo pushed open the glass door and he heard the soft chime of a bell signify his arrival. At the sound, a smiling face popped up from behind the counter opposite.

“Horo! What’s up? Did you oversleep again?”

“For once, no,” Horo shook his head and smiled fondly at the young man that had spoken. His eyes and hair were chocolate brown, and his whole face was lit up with a grin. His eyes were always smiling, even on the rare occasions when his mouth wasn’t. He always seemed so at peace with himself, enviably so, Horo thought, as though working in a fast food restaurant was the most fulfilling thing in the universe. This young man was Yoh, Horo’s closest friend, and head ‘chef’ at _Burger Galore._ Yoh had worked at this place for an age, and it had been he who had gotten Horo his job here.

Ren surveyed the stranger warily, and took a step sideways to hide behind Horo’s back. His golden eyes peeped around curiously.

The sight of a friendly face had been a welcome distraction for a moment. Remembering his charge, Horo sighed and turned to Ren. “Okay, I know this isn’t gonna be very fun for you, but believe me, it isn’t for me either. The best thing I can suggest is to take a seat and wait for me for a while. I should be able to get off at five.”

Ren stared blankly.

“Come on, I’ll find you somewhere to sit,” Horo said, softly. The restaurant was empty for now, and would be for a while, so there was plenty of choice. He led Ren to a small table near the front window, tucked away privately in a corner. Ren sat down obediently. “Is this okay?”

Ren nodded, his eyes already slipping sideways to stare out of the window at the busy street. During the walk here, Ren had been fascinated by simple, everyday things – the sight of a school bus going by, or an aeroplane whirring by overhead. He continued his hungry staring out of the restaurant window. At least he was easily entertained.

“I’ll be right back.”

As Horo headed back towards the counter, Yoh’s face appeared again from the small back room that was the kitchen.

“Who’s your friend?” Yoh asked, innocently.

“It’s kind of hard to explain. We only just met. All I know his is name is Ren and he’s pretty quiet,” Horo explained briefly. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Yoh enough to elaborate, it was simply that he had little to tell. He busied himself with the drinks machine, knowing Yoh wouldn’t intrude further if he stayed quiet. Yoh watched Ren for a few more seconds.

“Is he gonna wait there all day for you?”

“Yeah, looks like it,” Horo replied, fastening a lid to a paper cup he had just filled.

Yoh smiled warmly, shrugging his shoulders slightly as he disappeared again into the kitchen.

Horo pierced a straw through the plastic lid, then with it headed back to where Ren sat. “I brought you a drink,” Horo said, taking a seat opposite and placing the cup gently in front of him.

Ren tore his eyes away from the window to glare at the cup distastefully. “What is it?” he asked, nose wrinkling.

“Milkshake,” Horo smiled. “Thought you might need it, having to sit there all day. If you need a refill just call me, and I’ll-“

“I can’t have it,” Ren frowned.

“What? Why not?”

“I can’t.”

Horo bristled at the now familiar phrase. “Listen, you haven’t drank or eaten anything for at least twelve hours, it’s really not good for you. What _can_ you drink?”

Ren thought for a moment. “Water.”

“Okay, that’s something, at least.” Horo took back the cup and returned to the counter to swap it. He placed the water back down in front of Ren. “There. Better?”

Ren nodded, this time not even bothering to look his way.

“Are you hungry? Because it’s no problem to grab you some food before I start working.”

“No,” was Ren’s simple reply.

“Are you sure? It’s no trouble if you-“

“I’m not hungry,” Ren cut across him again, still looking rather preoccupied.

“Well… alright,” Horo conceded. “I’ll just be over there, so call me if you need me.”

Horo left rather reluctantly and returned to the counter. He was grateful of the fact that he had a clear view of Ren from where he stood - he felt as though he wanted to keep the young man firmly within his sights.

Tying on his awful red plastic apron, he set about his normal opening-of-business routine. He began with the dull task of refilling the straw and napkin dispensers. Yoh appeared once again from the kitchen.

“I saw your sister last night,” he said to Horo, in an off-hand way.

Horo looked up at his friend with urgency. “You did?”

“Yeah, she was hanging around with Ryu’s gang again. I know you don’t need me to tell you this, but she’d better be careful. You know what Ryu’s lot can be like.”

Horo breathed out heavily, thrusting the last few straws harshly into place. “Yeah…”

Yoh watched his reaction with concern. “Is everything alright between the two of you?”

“She didn’t come home last night. Or the night before that. Or the night before that,” Horo explained, sorrowfully. “I was worried about her anyway, but knowing she’s hanging out with Ryu again… ugh, I warned her about that already.”

Yoh leaned on the counter, hand cupping his chin. “She’s old enough to look out for herself now, and make her own mistakes. Besides, Ryu’s got a policy of not lashing out at women, though I know it’s not much consolation.”

“Hm, I don’t really trust a man like Ryu to uphold his word, do you? I just want her to quit with this whole thing, you know?”

Yoh stood upright, placing a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I can understand. And I know you’re gonna worry, regardless of what I say. But just rest in the knowledge that she’ll come around eventually, either sooner or later.”

Horo knew he’d rather it was sooner. A lot sooner, if it were possible. But one look at his friend’s deep, knowing eyes made him realise one harsh truth: there was no point trying to force or persuade Pirika to not do the things she did, or she would merely begin to resent him for it, if she hadn’t already. He half knew he was the one responsible for her behaviour and lack of self-respect. He wished that he could say more to Yoh, discuss this with him, but he felt somehow inhibited – was it by shame? And was that shame for his sister’s mistakes, or for his own failure as a brother that led to her making them? He answered instead with a weak smile, turning his back to busy himself with some other task.

“Heads up, first customer,” Yoh announced, disappearing back to his station in the kitchen.

Horo greeted the man with a forced friendliness that made him sick to affect. And so began the day: a steady stream of morning commuters dropping in for a snack or a boost of caffeine, steadily increasing to the frenzy that was the lunchtime rush. This was the part of the day where Horo and Yoh barely spoke a word to each other, save shouting orders through the hatch and murmurs of apology when they accidentally brushed each other in the small space behind the counter. Yoh churned out beef burgers and fries in batches by the dozen, as Horo quickly greeted and served each customer with an exhausted smile. Occasionally, Horo would disappear out into the restaurant floor to tidy the tables and gather litter thrown carelessly on the ground. At such times, Yoh would move to the counter front to serve the food himself, briefly flitting back and forth to the kitchen to restock the hotplates. It was in this manner that the two friends battled through this hectic time.

When he had first started the job, Horo had found the stress hard to cope with, feeling nothing but drained throughout the entire process, and sometimes even snapping at Yoh in exhausted agitation. Eventually, after day by day of the same routine, he began to come around to Yoh’s way of dealing with things, and it stopped bothering him so much. No matter what Yoh was doing, there was always a smile on his face and a knowing look in his eyes that somehow made it seem as though he and he alone knew the higher purpose of being there, slaving away miserably at a nine-to-five.

Horo used his table-clearing duties to check in with Ren, who was still staring contentedly out of the window. Even if he didn’t get the chance to speak to him, getting close enough to see the serene expression on his face was enough to appease him for a while.

One disconcerting moment came when a table needed cleaning and Horo was too swamped with customers to deal with it. He glanced restlessly at Ren two, three times over handfuls of change he was passing to customers, before Yoh called out, non-chalantly, “I got it, buddy!” and disappeared out on to the floor. The table in question was right next to where Ren sat and Horo started fumbling with the orders he was getting as he saw Yoh stop to talk to Ren.

But something remarkable happened. Yoh had barely said two words to Ren before he visibly relaxed. He turned from the window to throw one arm over the back of the booth chair, and flicked his hair out of his eyes casually as he spoke to Yoh. They were well out of Horo’s earshot, especially as he stood operating the drinks machine with a loud and constant buzz. But he did see them laugh together, like old friends, before Yoh clapped Ren’s shoulder and returned, tray of leftovers in hand.

“Your friend’s pretty cool,” Yoh said, once Horo’s last customer had finally left.

Horo glanced uneasily at Ren, who was sat again just how he had left him, timid and reserved, like he hadn’t just morphed into a different person right before his eyes. “Oh… yeah?”

Yoh waved a piece of paper around victoriously. “He told me where I can pick up tonight, so that’s a load off. My usual guy’s out of town.”

Horo tensed. _Drugs?_ It was no surprise to him that Yoh smoked a little more than occasionally. But _Ren_ knew a dealer? What was he, an addict? It would be easy to believe to, judging by his appearance and erratic behaviour. He pushed the thought aside. Surely it wasn’t that simple.

His train of thought was rudely interrupted by the sound of the shop door opening, a party of four entered, summoning Horo’s attention back to his work. From there, the day trickled slowly to its end. Five o’clock rolled around with all the speed of a maimed snail, when Horo threw down his apron gratefully.

Yoh’s face appeared once more at the kitchen door. “Oh, is that the time already?” he smiled. “Busy day, huh?”

Horo nodded, rubbing his tired eyes with grease-stained hands.

“You can go ahead if you like. I’ll finish getting the stuff ready for the night guys. I wouldn’t want to keep your friend waiting any longer.”

Horo muttered a word of thanks as Yoh disappeared with a grin. He headed from behind the counter, grabbing a box of fries as an after-thought on his way out.

“Hey,” he called out to Ren as he neared his table.

Ren’s eyes shot away from the window to look at Horo with surprise, as though he’d been awoken sharply from the middle of a long dream.

Horo invited himself to sit down once again, opposite Ren. “How’s it going?”

Ren nodded. Horo took this to be a positive answer.

“I brought you these,” he continued, placing the box of fries on the table. “Have as many as you like.”

Ren stared at the food blankly. He didn’t move an inch.

Horo sighed. “Okay, let me rephrase that: eat some of these. You haven’t eaten all day.”

Ren’s small mouth opened to respond, lips beginning to form the phrase Horo knew so well.

“Ah, and before you start with that ‘I can’t’ crap…” Horo interrupted him, holding up a hand to stop him from speaking. “You can and you will. So please.” Horo pushed the fries further towards Ren.

Ren gave him an almost tearful look, before looking down at the food even more emotionally.

“Go on,” Horo persuaded.

After a moment more of staring, Ren held out a tentative hand and grasped one in his dainty fingers. Carefully and slowly, he lifted it to his lips and gently nibbled the very end.

Horo smiled encouragingly, leaning back further in his seat. “I’m exhausted.” Right on cue, he yawned widely. In reality, he knew what his body was calling out for, and that was alcohol. His normal routine after a day’s work was to help Yoh tidy up the place, and then head straight to his usual haunts to drink himself dizzy. His common sense told him firmly that although he was responsible for his own actions and could drink himself to oblivion if he so desired, it was simply not fair to do it while he was in charge of someone else. He could hardly act as a guardian if he could barely walk in a straight line. And besides that, he wasn’t sure at all how Ren would fare in some of the places he usually visited. Shaking himself out of the alcohol-related train of thought, he looked back to Ren, who was still nibbling – rather contentedly now – on the fries. Glancing down at the box still on the table, Horo was surprised to see that it was already half empty.

“Whoa, you _were_ hungry, huh?”

Ren reddened a little, as though ashamed.

“It’s okay! I’m just glad you’re eating,” Horo said, as Ren finished off another, cheeks flushed pink. “Listen… Faust said you seemed as though you’ve had a bit of a rough time… can I ask, why were you in that place, all by yourself?”

Ren froze, midway through taking another bite. Silently and slowly, he returned the fry in his hand to the box. He folded his hands in his lap again. “I think… I’m done here.”

Horo gave an exasperated sigh. He felt momentarily angry with himself for stopping Ren from eating when it had been such an effort to convince him to do so in the first place. “Well look, when you’re ready to talk about it, I’m here to listen.” Wanting to leave just those words for Ren to ponder, Horo stood to his feet and called back into the kitchen, “Yoh! See you later!”

Yoh’s beaming face appeared in the food hatch. “Yeah, take it easy.”

With Ren in tow, Horo headed for the door.

“Oh, and Horo!” Yoh called after them. “Don’t forget: we’re hitting up _Faith_ in a few days. Save some energy!”

Horo cursed under his breath – he _had_ forgotten. It was Yoh’s birthday soon, and he was choosing to celebrate in the obvious fashion. Though the promise of alcohol was enticing, Horo never really chose to drink in such popular places.

“Of course, I won’t forget. I’m looking forward to it,” Horo lied as he opened the shop door. “See you!”

He rehearsed his excuses for the rest of the day.


	7. Chapter 7

Horo fumbled helplessly with the keys in his hands as the small figure beside him swayed precariously.

“Hold on, Ren. Just one more minute,” he spoke quickly, stressed, as the right key finally slipped its way into the lock. Horo turned it, his actions ten times slower thanks to his panicked clumsiness. When he finally pushed the door open, Ren staggered past him hastily. He barely got a few steps inside before he fell to his hands and knees on the floor, legs giving out beneath him. Horo followed and dropped beside him, moving to touch his shoulder for comfort, but thinking better of it at the last moment. “Are you alright? How do you feel?”

Ren shook his head desperately, gasping for every strained breath he took, body quivering hopelessly. He retched, sweat beading on his forehead, and Horo watched the fries he had just eaten appear in reverse.

With more than a little persuasion, and a lot of effort, Horo managed to get Ren into the bathroom, where he hung his head over the toilet, still retching convulsively. Horo hovered beside him with concern, not really knowing how he should be supporting him. When relief finally came, Ren’s face was pasty and his eyes were red and sore-looking. Horo offered him a damp cloth with which to wash himself, and forced a glass of water between his quivering fingers. He sat Ren down on the sofa and begrudgingly began cleaning the floor by the front door.

“What do you think caused that?” Horo asked aloud, washing his hands in the kitchen sink after the job was done.

“… I don’t know,” came Ren’s quiet reply.

Horo shook the excess water from his hands, grabbed a cloth and returned to the living room. “I’m gonna call Faust and let him know what happened, okay? He might be able to shed some light on the situation.” Rubbing his hands dry, he stepped into the room and saw Ren was lying down, shaking timidly upon the sofa. Horo sighed with pity and gently placed over him the blanket that usually hung on the back of the chair. Horo remained for a moment, watching Ren’s pink eyes opening and closing slowly with each heavy breath. His honey-hued skin seemed translucent, the peach of his lips quivering as his teeth chattered behind them. Horo picked up the telephone and, without hesitation, he dialled the number of Faust’s clinic.

After a few rings, Eliza answered, her soft voice ringing out serenely as she recited her usual formal greeting.

“Hey, Eliza. It’s Horokeu. Listen, I need to speak to Faust. It’s kind of urgent.”

“Johann? He’s just finishing up with a patient, I’ll patch you right through,” Eliza said, asking no more questions, no doubt hearing the worry in Horo’s voice. “Just hold for a moment, if you could.”

“Okay, thanks,” Horo clutched the handset close to his ear, cloth still held tightly in his other hand. He listened to the silence at the end of the line, watching Ren intently. He looked even frailer now than when they had first met, and an odd feeling of concern washed over him. He chewed furiously at his bottom lip as he waited for Faust to pick up.

“Hello, Horokeu?” came the eventual relief of Faust’s fatherly tones.

“Hey, sorry to bother you,” Horo apologised. The clinic was always busy during the early evening.

“You should know not to worry about it. Now tell me, what seems to be the problem? Eliza seemed quite worried.”

Horo rang the cloth through his right hand tirelessly as he explained the situation to the doctor. While he was talking, he watched Ren’s breathing steady, and his eyes begin to focus with each mention of his name. As Horo’s conversation drew to an end, Ren’s golden eyes were set on him intently, as though absorbing his every word.

“Okay. Thanks, Faust. Yeah, I’ll bring him by tomorrow. Thanks again. Good night.” Horo turned his back to Ren as he placed the receiver on its stand just beside him. He took a pause, before turning back with one word on his lips: “Malnourishment.” He looked at Ren questioningly as he spoke, aware of how his worried anger showed through his words. He watched Ren recoil a little and his chin disappear beneath the corner of the blanket as he said again, “Malnourishment… what the _hell_ , Ren?”

He could see how his hostility was affecting Ren, but the boiling in his veins and the knot in his stomach were not going to let him stay calm. He threw down the cloth on to the floor with exasperation. “You owe me some answers this time. Tell me, what the hell is going on with you?”

Ren’s eyes shimmered in response, the blanket creeping ever upward until he was barely peeping over the top of it. The delicate bump that was his nose poked gently at the material, the space around it rising and falling with each small breath. Horo closed his eyes and tried to dissipate his anger, realising he had scared him.

“Listen…” he spoke softly now, with conscious effort. “I’m not mad. I’m just… I’m worried, okay? I think I’ve seen the worst and then you spring this on me. I just want to know what’s happened to you, so I can at least try to help. You’re very ill, and I need to know why. Please, talk to me.”

Ren blinked up at him, through strands of violet hair falling delicately upon his eyelashes. For a moment, neither of them said a word. Horo sat down beside him, cross-legged on the floor, waiting for Ren’s response. A few tense seconds later, a muffled sound and a movement of the blanket hinted that he was trying to talk. Horo smiled gently, and with a soft tug, teased the blanket away from Ren’s face.

“Try again.”

Ren appeared frozen, hardly blinking. His lips moved silently a few times before the word finally formed. “Grigori…”

Horo waited, to see if Ren would continue uninvited. The blank stare on Ren’s face said that he wouldn’t. “Grigori…” Horo urged. “What is that?”

“They’re people. The people who take care of me,” Ren said, carefully. The glistening pools that were his eyes stared, wide as saucers, across at Horo. His body still trembled lightly, and every drop of colour remained absent from his face as he spoke, barely whispering.

Horo frowned, shifting uneasily. “They take care of you? Where are they?”

“They’re not always there. They visit me, in the Sanctuary…” Ren closed his eyes, burying his face further into the pillow on which he lay.

“Wait, the Sanctuary?” Horo questioned.

Ren nodded slowly. “You visited me there too. But you shouldn’t have been there,” Ren paused for a moment. His eyebrows knitted and he shook his head. “No, definitely not.”

“You’re not talking about that old factory are you? The place I found you in?” Horo felt his stomach turn with the sudden dread of knowing.

“Yes, the Sanctuary,” Ren nodded, eyes still closed fast. His voice had once again acquired a dreamlike quality, wistful yet formal. “My home.”

“You _live_ there?” Horo exclaimed, watching Ren recoil at the sudden volume of his voice. He steadied himself again, apologising. “How… _how_ do you live there?” He shook his head, in astonishment. The large room he had seen was just a derelict factory, there were no amenities, certainly no living space to speak of.

“I don’t live upstairs. That place is for worship only,” Ren’s eyes were wide again, startled by Horo’s outburst. “I live downstairs.”

“Worship? What do you mean?”

“That’s where we worship Him,” Ren’s small shoulders jerked in a delicate shrug. “What else would we do?”

“Him?”

“Our God in Heaven. Our saviour,” Ren said, a half smile passing across his lips. The first smile he had seen, Horo marvelled, though he had not expected it to look so out of place.

Horo waited for a moment, waited for Ren’s strange faraway expression to become instead an innocent laugh, followed by a line about how he was only teasing, for him to say that he was in that old building for some far more mundane reason. But Ren’s odd, devoted smile did not fade – a look that changed his face entirely.

“Y-You’re serious, aren’t you?” Horo gasped, eventually.

Ren nodded, obviously confused by such an obvious truth.

Horo paused, breathing deeply, trying to line up a torrent of questions rushing through his mind, trying to order his words so they came out as coherent sentences rather than a mash of nothing. He decided to start simply. “So… why do you live downstairs? Where do you eat and sleep?”

“I live downstairs because God wishes it,” Ren said, plainly. “And I have a room. That’s where I eat and sleep, when the Grigori allow me to.”

“When they _allow_ you?”

“Yes, I can’t eat whenever or whatever I like. That would be gluttonous,” Ren shook his head with the ridiculousness of the concept. “And to sleep for such a long time invites idleness. An idle mind does God no favours.”

He was building a picture of these people, and it wasn’t a good one. They interrupted Ren’s sleep and monitored his eating – obviously not well, if he was so malnourished. “These… Grigori? They’re normal people?”

Ren nodded unsurely, as though he didn’t quite understand the question.

“How many of them are there?”

Ren thought for a moment, eyes wandering to the ceiling as he considered. “I can think of… nineteen faces. Some I see more than others.”

“Are you one of them?”

“A Grigori?” Ren shook his head frantically, face half-concealed by the pillow. “No, no!”

“Well… what are you in all of this?”

“An angel.”

Not for the first time, Horo spluttered with disbelief. “Wh-What?”

Ren nodded with simplicity.

“You mean, a real angel? Like the ones you see in church paintings?” Horo couldn’t help but let scepticism filter into his words. He was unsure whether Ren was lying or simply mad.

Ren looked thoughtful. “Yes, I suppose that’s what I used to be like.”

“Used to?”

“I’m not in heaven anymore, so now I look like this. Like you.”

“So you _used_ to be in heaven?” Horo asked, pressing his fingers to his forehead as he tried to piece together all of this new information.

“Yes, or so they tell me. I don’t remember it myself.” Ren’s eyes were brimming with tears, as though the fact that he couldn’t remember pained him.

“ _Who_ told you this?”

“The Grigori, of course. They’re my protectors.”

“What else have these people told you?”

“That I fell from heaven, into the protection of Samjaza. He and the rest of the Grigori watch over me until I am ready to return to God’s side. They test my faith and make sure I am prepared to take the journey. But Samjaza has sole responsibility for me. He is a very generous man.”

Horo’s eyes scanned every delicate inch of Ren’s face as the stranger – seeming even more strange now – relayed this information. For a moment, his mouth moved without sound, as his mind tackled whether this was either an elaborate fabrication by the frail young man in front of him, or a situation so wrong he could barely comprehend. _Something_ about this story was amiss, but he didn’t know what he should be asking to get the root of it. He asked the first thing that sprang to his mind.

“And I suppose this ‘Samjaza’ is taking orders from…?”

Ren nodded confidently. “ Yes. God himself.”

Horo’s thoughts upon how to expand on this seemingly meaningless discovery were interrupted by the thud of the front door swinging open and bouncing off the wall behind it. Horo jumped to his feet with alarm, and Ren buried his face once more beneath the blanket, as a young woman of twenty-one strode inside the apartment with a brashness that made the whole room seem to quiver. She was pretty, but exhausted-looking, as though the last dregs of her exotic youthfulness were on the verge of being sapped away by life’s troubles. The easiest way to discern her as a sibling of Horo’s was the shade of her hair – a glistening azure fountain that descended to her mid-waist. She had kicked the door aside with her foot, due to the fact that both of her hands were encumbered with shopping bags. In each hand she held five, all of assorted shapes and sizes, each one adorned with the name and logo of some top-of-the-line store. As she entered, her eyes shot right to Horo, beside the sofa, and then to the strange figure lying there. Without a word, she threw her shopping bags to the ground unceremoniously.

“Pirika…” Horo started. The normality of his sister arriving home made him feel as though he had been caught in the process of some unsightly deed, and it made him feel vaguely embarrassed. Then his relief at finally seeing her set in, and for a moment, Ren and all the talk of angels and the Grigori disappeared from his mind. “Where have you been?”

The young girl rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated breath of air. “Freakin’ hell, Horo. Can’t you greet me with a different line for a change? That one’s gettin’ old.”

“It’s a legitimate question,” Horo said, taken aback. Every time they saw each other – a rare occurrence nowadays – he was surprised by her hostility towards him. She acted accused before he had even spoken a word. “You haven’t been here for what, three nights now? I have a right to know where you are.”

“Ugh, as if you need to ask,” Pirika scowled, throwing her keys on to the table and disappearing into the kitchen. Horo heard the tap running as she made herself a drink.

He raised his voice to make sure she could hear. “I heard you’ve been hanging around with Ryu again.”

“An’ who told you that?” A cup slammed on to the worktop, as Pirika also raised her voice. “I bet it was that shit-face Yoh, wasn’t it? Fuckin’ snitch, as always.”

“Leave Yoh out of this. He’s just looking out for you, same as I am. I don’t need to tell you again that Ryu’s gang are bad news.”

Pirika suddenly stormed to the doorway of the kitchen, full of angry attitude. “You don’t think I know that? Huh? But what choice do I have?”

“You have a lot of choice, Pirika. Stop with this whole game, stop it altogether. You don’t need to do it.”

Pirika scoffed. “Hah, and then what? It’s not like _you_ can support me. Or would you rather _I_ was flippin’ burgers for next to no money as well? Would that make you happy?”

He tried to ignore the personal attack. “I’m not saying you have to do that specifically, just try to find yourself a real job. There’s plenty of things you can do besides-“

“Besides this?” Pirika laughed dryly. She gestured to the expensive, but revealing, clothes she wore. “Yeah, right. And I’m sure they’ll pay as well as this too. Sorry, you’ve tried to have this talk with me too many times already, I’m not gonna start listening now.”

“Maybe if you stopped being so fucking materialistic you wouldn’t _need_ so much money in the first place. I break my back trying to take care of you, and you know it,” Horo started to shake with anger, scowling at his little sister. He loved her – he knew that, even at a time like this. But she could infuriate him, particularly when this subject arose.

“Yeah, yeah, and I’m sure mommy and daddy are so proud of you, smiling down on you from heaven,” she said, bitterly. “You know I don’t give a shit whether or not you care that I’m hangin’ around with Ryu – it’s good money that I’m not gonna get anywhere else. So stick your whole righteous big brother act up your ass and let me get on with my own life.”

This time, Horo didn’t snap back. Another sound entered the space between the warring siblings, a sound that was noticed at first by Horo, closely followed by Pirika. Horo stood, looking down at Ren, the stranger he had long since forgotten about. His charge was now completely buried beneath the blanket, shaking gently, as the soft sound of sobbing echoed around the tense atmosphere. Both siblings stood in silence for a moment, before Pirika made a noise of exasperation, collected her bags, and stormed off into her room, giving the door a suitable slam behind her. The next thing to be heard was the sound of Pirika’s stereo booming aloud, as it so often did after their arguments.

Horo grounded himself for a moment before kneeling down once more at Ren’s side. Watching the slight movement beneath the blanket, he listened to the almost inaudible sound of tears, before beginning to speak. “Hey, Ren?”

No response came, but Horo didn’t expect one. “Listen, I’m sorry if me and Pirika arguing has upset you in some way. I know it’s not nice to listen to, especially when you don’t know her. I promise, she’s usually a lot nicer. You’ll get on, when you get to talk to her, I think.”

“I…” Horo heard the squeak that was Ren’s voice, muffled by the blankets he was hiding beneath. “I want to rest.”

“Ah, of course. You’ve had a long day.” Moving the blanket away from him, Horo guided him in to the bedroom. “Come on, slowly now.” He led him in the direction of the bed, hoping he would consider actually sleeping there tonight. Ren didn’t protest, obviously too tired even for that.

Pulling the covers up to Ren’s chin and leaving a glass of water beside his bed, Horo left him alone. Closing the door softly behind him, he sighed as he stepped back into the normality of the living room. Pirika’s music was still blaring, but he doubted it would bother Ren at the moment. He fell back heavily on to the sofa, head in his hands. Running tired fingers through his azure hair, he looked down at himself and realised that he was still wearing his _Burger Galore_ uniform. He scowled at it, grabbing a towel and heading into the bathroom to wash away the bleariness of the day.


	8. Chapter 8

The pounding of the music from earlier that night had left her ears singing with vibrations. If she listened closely, she could still hear a heavy baseline reverberating up from the basement level of the club. She could feel the music throbbing through her heels, making her whole body shake and causing her to grit her teeth with annoyance. She scrubbed harder at the marble surface of the bar, delving her focus into the reflection of the dim neons that lit the club’s interior. The fingerprints that plagued the ebony counter-top had been long since erased by her persistent scrubbing, but still she polished on, unwilling to stop doing the one thing that was keeping her from marching downstairs and kicking down that door.

It was some ridiculous hour of the morning, and Anna would really have appreciated being back at home. Asleep in her own bed, if she could be specific. But although the cleaning had long been completed for the night, and all patrons and staff alike had been ushered out, she couldn’t leave yet. Until her boss finally emerged from that downstairs, all-night party, she was stuck there. As long as he was there, indulging in the company of all those overly-attractive men and women, drinking exotic liquor until all hours of the morning, she was under strict instruction to occupy herself however she deemed best until she could lock up for him, as the only key-holder. The club might have closed officially at 3am, but the party carried on long after whenever he decided to stay around. Why he couldn’t keep a key for himself was a mystery to her.

What she found more mysterious still was the clandestine activities of the basement floor. The place was strictly off-limits, even to her, and all other drunken revellers that plagued the club during opening hours. It wouldn’t be so unusual, she supposed, for the owner of a nightclub to have his own private floor, and perhaps even invite V.I.P guests there for personal functions when he chose. Were she working for anybody else, she wouldn’t have questioned the behaviour. But she had heard some rumours recently regarding her employer that made her usually inquisitive mind work over-time.

She threw down her dishcloth with a frustrated sound and moved briskly to the other side of the bar to rearrange the stools for the twentieth time that night. Anna was not one to ignore such nagging intuition that something more was going on behind those closed doors. If there was one thing for which she should be credited, it was her unforgiving pursuit of knowledge and her persistence in this endeavour.

Adjusting the final stool, she sat down on it heavily. Elbows resting on the bar, she covered her tired eyes with her detergent-smelling hands. She pulled them away as the artificial lemon scent made her tear ducts sting. As she did, she found her eyes resting on the hallway that lead to the office of Hao Asakura – the young, undeniably handsome entrepreneur whose face had been virtually unavoidable for the past three years. His charismatic smile stared out from the covers of all those magazines. And not just the business and financial publications either; even the fashion magazines bore his intriguingly charming face, each one trying to pick apart his 'ultra-suave, metro-professional' style. Anna had written him off as just another celebrity, the type people worshipped under false acknowledgement that he was everything that they themselves wanted to be. A modern-day saviour, she supposed.

When she saw that his chain of nightclubs – so called _Faith_ for their situ in renovated churches– was advertising vacancies for its flagship venue in the next city over, it hadn't been reverence for Hao Asakura that had made her apply. Nor was it her desperation for a regular pay-check. Far from it. And it was now, as she looked towards that deserted hallway, that she remembered the reason why with a newly-restored vigour.

Those brown eyes bore into the door in front of her – the only guard between her and opportunity. She knew Hao would be downstairs for hours yet. He resurfaced for nothing when the party was in its heat. She had done this hesitant dance a thousand times now, trapped between her desire to act and her misgivings about being caught. She had memorized the code to that door long ago; planned her excuses, and her escape routes. She had lingered for too long, and that night, her frustration at herself, at her situation, at her employer, had peaked. In one swift motion, she kicked the barstool out from underneath her and stood up with a jolt. Both her hands hit the marble of the bar-top with a clap that jarred her jaw. Within moments, she found herself punching in the code to that blockade of a door. She slipped inside and closed it quietly behind her.

She stood in a narrow corridor, low-lit with elegant sconces and a high standard of décor the rest of the club did not seem to share. She had walked through there only once before, during her interview for the job. They had not used Hao’s own office for the interview, and he had led her to a smaller, but equally well-furnished room off to the left of the corridor. She could see the door to it now, that blank name-plate staring ominously back at her. She could remember her surprise upon discovering that Hao himself was conducting her interview, considering he must have thousands of people working for him in all the various facets of his business. But as an employer, he had ‘high standards to uphold’ he had said, in response to her idle amazement. He had handed her the keys to the club after only a few, unobtrusive questions, and she had started work that same night. The whole process had been relaxed and unceremonious. But that seemed to be how Hao ran all of his operations, and she was a fan of efficiency, so she asked no questions.

The long-denied office sat invitingly at the end of the corridor. She did not even consider that the door might be locked. Hao was alarmingly lax in his security; there were not even any cameras in this corridor, she noted. Incredibly risky, considering both the cash office and the main hub for the CCTV feed were also located down this corridor. _That’s a lot of faith to put in one door code_ , she thought. As she expected, the door handle succumbed to a simple tug, and with a few stolen glances left and right, she stepped inside. She exhaled softly, a breath to steady herself upon realising that she had finally taken the plunge.

The office itself was large, particularly considering that Hao rarely spent any time in here. It was lit dimly by an incredibly subtle desk lamp that she assumed would be insufficient to do any actual work by. On the main wall, a large piece of pretentious art hung in all its hideous glory. The opposite wall was filled corner to corner with bookshelves, which were crammed with box-files and folders, all of which appeared to be gathering rather large quantities of dust. The desk itself was broad and made of sturdy dark wood. Almost definitely an expensive antique. She noted with interest the lack of a computer – an oddity for a businessman who doubtless has countless electronic correspondences to see to.

She headed first for the desk, sitting down gratefully in his plush office chair, complete with over-the-top armrests and a garish leather finish. Each drawer of the desk was locked. She gave them all two tugs, just to be sure. Finally, _some_ form of security. From where she sat, she reached idly to the bookshelf, pulling out a box-file with seemingly random dates on it. The papers inside were all accounts and expenses for the nightclub chain for the previous year. Though she had no head for numbers, she could easily see a steady rise in profits, and nothing particularly amiss. The next box-file contained information on various franchise holders for the chain. She scanned through the list of names she was already quite familiar with. It had been easy to find these names with a bit of digging around online, and she had investigated them fully – turning up nothing of interest each time. All of this paperwork looked like it might be more at home in the cash office, not in the CEO’s private collection.

She looked around in frustration at the sparse room, resting back dejectedly in the enormous chair. Nothing. What did she expect from an office he hardly used, and didn’t bother to even secure? She growled under her breath, kicking his wastepaper basket idly. When it also revealed nothing, she stood up in agitation, ready to leave.

She caught sight of a glint of light through the frosted glass of the office door. She froze, poised to duck behind the desk. But it vanished as quickly as it had come, with no sound to accompany it, so she put it down to imagination. She sighed with relief, and headed for the door. She walked on tip-toes on her way out, reaching up and running her hands across the top of the bookcases idly. Apart from a collection of furry dust on her fingertips, she felt nothing.

Until she reached the last set of shelves. Her fingers suddenly scraped something hard and out of place. She strained higher, grabbing at what felt like a corner of whatever it was. All she succeeded in doing was pushing it further back and completely out of reach. She looked at the comically large chair and began manoeuvring it around the desk. Pushing it against the shelves for support, she climbed on to the seat, completed unconcerned of what damage her shoes might do to the fancy upholstery. She wobbled slightly, regaining her balance as the chair tried to spin around. Steady once more, she reached up and took a swipe at the foreign object. She just caught it between her thumb and forefinger. Slowly, she drew it back, and let it fall into her outstretched hand.

Suddenly, the thud of a door came. Anna span, hesitating only long enough to see the door of the office was still closed. But there were lights outside, and shapes. She had no time to make a run. She was trapped either way. She ducked behind the chair, eyes trained on the door and heart pounding in her chest. The shapes outside were accompanied with voices, and they got increasingly louder as they came into view through the frosted glass. From what she could tell, there were two men coming from the room she had passed on the way in. As far as she knew, there was no one in the club besides herself, Hao, and his guests. How long had they been in there?

“You know how I feel about this whole thing. You’re completely _crazy_ , Marco, and you know it! You honestly think this would pass by Hao unnoticed? You’re a fool.”

The voice had an accent with Mexican influences. It was male and obviously rather up in arms about something.

The second voice was cooler, and also male.

“He will not find out. Not only is this being conducted well outside the confines of the Sanctuary, but I am also approaching only selected candidates. Surely you understand my reasoning, Peyote.”

“Listen,” the first man, Peyote, replied, “I know you’ve got your morals, but surely you understand what you’re suggesting. No matter how much you think that someone’s on your side, you know they won’t go up against Hao.”

Marco tried to respond, but Peyote continued on, irate.

“And in case you haven’t noticed, your ‘secret’ little rendezvous are going on right in the heart of Hao’s business. Or have you forgotten that we’re standing in the middle of biggest nightclub in the country?” Peyote threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. “I’ve had it with you, Marco. I wash my hands of your nonsense.”

Anna risked a sigh of relief as Peyote disappeared back down the long hallway, in the opposite direction to where she hid.

But Marco remained where he was, and for a tense moment Anna couldn’t tell which way he was going to go. By the time she’d thought of a safer hiding place, Marco’s back turned, and he strode away in the direction of Peyote. If they were going to continue their conversation, Anna would have given her writing hand to have listened in. But this was the closest to anything she’d had in months and she wasn’t prepared to push her luck tonight. Trying to follow them was too risky.

With a racing heart and tender steps, she slipped back out into the main bar. Still no one around. No sign of those men either. She wasted no time in jotting down what she could in her notebook before her memory distorted it. When she was finished, she was confident that the conversation between ‘P’ and ‘M’ was almost verbatim. She smiled at the page, the black leather wallet tucked safely in her back pocket. Yes, she could work with this.


	9. Chapter 9

Whether out of force of habit or simply a lack of concentration, Horo walked the long way to get them to Faust’s clinic the next morning – the route that just so happened to pass by his work. As they neared the dismal forecourt of _Burger Galore_ , the air seemed to thicken. It wasn’t long before his line of vision met with red, and he noticed clouds of black smog lingering in the distance. He did a double take at the red monstrosity before he accepted that it was indeed a fire truck. And yes, that was the smell of burning ashes that plagued his nostrils.

He passed a half glance at Ren, seemingly oblivious, before knitting his eyebrows and picking up his pace towards the small crowd of people gathered around. Some of them were just nosy passers-by, wanting to glean the best cut of gossip from those in charge. Behind them, _Burger Galore_ stood as just an empty shell, blackened and scorched from the ground upward. The windows had been smashed, and glass glittered all over the street. The fire had not long been extinguished, and huge plumes of grey smoke billowed into the air. The crew of firefighters were pumping water through the large hole that was once the roof. Horo nudged the crowd aside so he could see better, and was met with Yoh’s smiling face.

“Hey, Horo,” he greeted cheerily, as though completely unaware of the carnage behind him. “I thought for a while that maybe I’d left the fryer on overnight. Maaan, would Silva be pissed if that was true!” He laughed, though Horo could make out the lines of relief on his forehead. After all, it wouldn’t be an implausible thing for him to have managed.

“What happened?” Horo pushed.

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” He looked surprised, as though it should be common knowledge already. “Ryu’s gang hit it late last night. Smashed the windows, grabbed the tills, torched the place, you know the story. Fucked the place up reallll nice.”

Horo noticed then just how many police officers were gathered at the scene. A policewoman nearby had a stern expression on her face, lips pouted as she took notes with an air of boredom. This obviously wasn’t the first time she had dealt with a problem that Ryu’s gang had caused in this neighbourhood, and it undoubtedly would not be the last. “Why here?” Horo asked.

Yoh tilted his head towards him, in an ‘I know you know’ sort of way. That was the look Horo was dreading. How could it be anything but Pirika? What concerned him wasn’t the fact that targeting _his_ place of work meant Ryu most likely had him in his sights, but more what Pirika could possibly have done to anger him so. She had left the apartment again early that morning, without saying goodbye. His mind agonised over where she might be.

He was shocked out of his reverie by Yoh clapping him reassuringly on the back. “It’s just an empty threat, you know that. Ryu’s just setting off a warning flare, that’s all. He won’t hurt your sister.”

“I wish I could believe you...” Horo trailed off, dark eyes drinking in the destruction before him. The place was ruined, the pavement around it charred with ashes. If he could say one thing for Ryu, it was that he certainly knew how to get a job done. He could imagine the gang’s raucous laughter as they swarmed upon the empty restaurant, baseball bats and lighter fluid in hand. It filled him with a sort of rage he didn’t know how to categorise, and he ground his fingernails into his palms.

“Sir, is it possible to get that statement from you now?” The policewoman Horo had noticed earlier approached them. Hearing her address Yoh as ‘sir’ was almost comical, as she would no doubt have grounds to arrest him herself, under different circumstances.

“Sure,” Yoh grinned warmly. “Sorry dude, gotta run.”

“Wait, do you want me to stay and help out?”

“Nah, what more can we do?” Yoh shrugged, already walking after the policewoman. “I gave Silva a buzz, and he’s on his way here. Can’t wait to see his face when he sees this shit-storm. Go on, enjoy your day off. I’ll give you a call when things are back to the norm!” He waved, and turned his back to talk to the man with a notepad.

Horo sighed. Thinking about it, this was going to be at least a few weeks without pay. Silva was tight-fisted as it was – there was no way he was going to cover leave for them, even if the situation wasn’t their fault. Caught up in his worries about money, he was almost surprised when he turned around to find Ren standing directly behind him.

Ren gazed up at him unreservedly. He seemed somehow inquisitive, though he asked no questions.

“Come on, we’ve got to get to Faust’s,” Horo stated, remembering his current task with a jolt.

The clinic was only a few blocks away, but Horo remembered with a sense of dread how Faust despised tardiness. He picked up his pace and Ren followed suit obediently.

When they reached the glass doors of the clinic, they found them locked. Horo knocked and Eliza hurried forward with a smile to let them inside. It turned out that Faust had insisted on closing the clinic to all non-emergencies while he saw to Ren.

“You’re late,” were the first words Horo heard from the doctor, when he met them in the exam room.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Horo apologised. “I was just walking by-“

Faust held a hand up a gloved hand to stop him talking, and Horo fell quiet. He sat in the corner of the room like a scolded child while Faust began seeing to Ren, who was perched obediently on the edge of the bed. He began with some basic checks, blood pressure, heart rate, then shone a light into Ren’s eyes that made him shy away.

“How has he been?” Faust asked, still busying himself with Ren.

Horo half wondered why the question was aimed at him when his patient was right there in front of him. “Okay, I guess. He won’t eat much, and I don’t think he’s been sleeping very well. Then there was this bizarre ‘ritual’ he insisted on doing.”

Faust stopped then, and turned to face Horo properly. “Describe it to me.”

Horo explained as best as he could, while Ren looked disinterested and absent throughout. He didn’t have any additions to what Horo said, so he must have been satisfied with his account.

Faust nodded and stared intensely at Horo until he finished. He stayed quiet for a while, obviously thinking. When he spoke again, he said, “Horokeu, I’m going to need some time alone with Ren for a while.”

“Uh yeah, of course. Shall I just go wait outside?”

Faust shook his head. “Probably best if you just come back for him later. I’m going to need a couple of hours.”

Horo was confused, but he knew he wouldn’t understand even if he asked, so he shrugged and rose from his seat.

Ren reached out for him as he saw him head for the door. “No…” he said, feebly.

Horo smiled reassuringly from behind the door. “You’ll be okay, Ren. I’ll be back soon.”

He wasted no time in leaving. Eliza let him back outside, and he took a deep breath of air back in the street. It was nice to be alone for a moment. He hadn’t realised how much Ren’s presence had been weighing him down these last couple of days. His mind began racing with fabulous possibilities about how he could use his free time, before he remembered he had something he wanted to do, something that had been playing on his mind. It was something that Ren had said to him the previous night. It sounded important, sounded familiar, but he couldn’t think why. He needed to investigate. It would only take five minutes, then perhaps he could head to the bar, just for a quick drink. It was only a few streets away, and it would be opening its doors for the lunchtime rush right about now. Pleased with his plan, and set his course for his first stop: the library.

He and Yoh had a mutual friend who worked at the library. His name was Manta Oyamada and Horo was sure the guy was like an encyclopaedia himself. Impossibly book-smart, Manta was the kind of person you would want on your team on quiz night. However, his intelligence was often over-looked due to his incredibly tiny stature. He had been diagnosed with dwarfism as a child and had never grown more than two feet tall. As can be expected, the young man had faced some hardships in his years.

Manta gave a surprised smile when Horo entered. Horo understood why. He wasn’t usually a library-goer. Manta was sat behind the desk, on a chair similar to a bar stool so he could reach properly, leafing through a record of what looked like late returns.

“Long time no see, buddy,” Manta said, slipping a bookmark into his page.

Horo smiled back apologetically. “Yeah, I know. Sorry, it’s been a busy few months.”

“No need to apologise! How have you been?”

“Um… good,” Horo was fairly sure Manta wouldn’t be interested in the honest answer to that enquiry. “Listen, I have a question for you-“

A girl pushed him aside then, and cut him off entirely. Her arms were laden with large heavy books, and she jostled him out of the way to put them down on the counter. “I’ll take these,” she said to Manta, not acknowledging Horo’s presence at all.

“I’m sorry, miss,” Manta spoke with an air of professionalism. “We only allow five books to be checked out at a time. If you’d like, I can put the others aside for you and-“

The girl sighed loudly. Her stern face remained expressionless. Horo stood awkwardly to the side while she stared out Manta with her dark eyes.

Manta hesitated when she didn’t respond. “If you’d just like to choose three to leave here for now…”

“Fine,” the girl huffed sharply, and impatiently began sorting the books into two piles, slamming each one down on the desk as she did so. Horo risked a glance at the covers. They were mostly books on symbolism and lesser known religious organisations.

Manta stamped each of her chosen books in awkward silence, before she stormed out with them in hand, knocking Horo aside again as she went.

“You’re welcome!” Manta called out after her, though not quite loud enough for her to hear.

“Nice girl. What was her problem?” Horo thrust a disparaging thumb in her direction.

“I believe she has a serious case of a stick up her ass,” Manta smiled devilishly. “Now, did you say I could help you, Horo?”

“I hope so. Have you ever heard of something called the Grigori?”

“That’s from the Bible, isn’t it?”

“You tell me. I went to church as a kid but I never read the bible through.”

“I don’t blame you, it’s depressing,” Manta said, already beginning to tap on his keyboard. “They’re from the Book of Enoch. Old Testament, mostly Jewish scripture, so you wouldn’t have come across it anyway. They were a group of angels who were banished from heaven for teaching humankind forbidden knowledge, like astrology, agriculture, and so on.” Horo could tell he wasn’t reading from his computer screen at this point.

“So they’re not real people?”

“Entirely fictional. Unless of course you’re one of these fundamentalists who takes every page from the Bible literally,” Manta stopped typing. “Our religious studies section is upstairs, to your right. You’re looking for shelf twelve. The Bibles are nearby, you won’t miss them.”

“Thanks, Manta.”

“No problem. Hey, just shout me if you need me. Oh, not literally though. They don’t like me shouting in here.”

Horo followed Manta’s directions and easily found the section he was looking for. The smell of old books in this particular area was over-whelming, and Horo found it strangely relaxing. There didn’t seem to be anybody else even on this floor, and he revelled in the peace. He had intended to just pull out one book from the shelf but he soon found himself intrigued by several, either by their titles, their covers, or their general look and feel. Before he knew it, he had six books on the table behind him, all of varying focuses. He grabbed a Bible too, for good measure.

It had been a long time since he had looked through a textbook, but he remembered enough to flip to the index to find what he needed. He found the section on the Grigori and began skimming quickly over the words. He began with a haste to get the job done, but as his interest peaked, he began to slow down, devouring every word eagerly. He began to flick to other areas of the book to read about unrelated topics, addressing questions about his parents’ faith that had addled him for years. Before he knew it, he was flicking back and forth between several books, and back again to the original Bible text. He would be reading one section, then a word would jump out and drag him to another section, another page, another book entirely. Before he knew it, he was pulling down more books from the shelf hungrily, the voices of six different authors chattering away in his head, all from varying schools of thought, yet somehow singing in harmony to become the knowledge that he now had in his mind.

He found Manta’s summary of the fictional Grigori was fairly accurate. Their name meant ‘the Watchers’, as they were originally sent to Earth to watch over its people. But, sympathizing with the humans’ lack of divine knowledge, they began to teach them forbidden arts and technology, techniques that the humans would have gradually discovered over time if the angels had not intervened. The Grigori also began to lust after the human women and they procreated with them. Eventually, when their malfeasance was discovered, God cast them from Heaven, banishing them to live alongside the humans they loved so much. Their leader, the one who instigated all of this betrayal, was known as Samjaza.

In between pages, he glanced up at the clock and realised that almost two hours had passed since he had arrived at the library. He would be late to pick up Ren. In a panic, he put back the books where he thought they went. He hesitated with one of them in his hand, and in a rush, decided to take it with him. It had been the one he had found the most interesting, the one that answered many of his questions, yet produced even more that he needed answering. Hastily checking out the book with Manta, he grabbed his coat and ran out of the door.

\--

When Horo got back to the clinic, he burst through the doors panting, brow wet with sweat, fully expecting a scolding from Faust for being late. The clinic was fully opened now, the waiting room busy with people. They all gave him a curious look as he entered in his panic.

He found Ren sat next to Eliza at the reception desk. He was sat patiently, watching as Eliza spoke to her patients and shuffled papers around the desk. Every now and then, she would trade a gentle word with him and he would nod along with her. Eliza beamed at Horo as he approached. “Hello Horokeu. Isn’t he just the sweetest?” She said, gazing at Ren as though he was only a small child. And for a moment, to Horo, he _looked_ just like one too. “Johann’s with a patient at the moment, but Ren’s all ready to go.”

Ren stood up and scurried around the desk to stand at Horo’s side.

“Did Faust say anything?” Horo asked.

“Just make sure he eats small but regular meals and try to keep an eye on his sleeping.” She handed Horo a small paper bag with what seemed like three or four different bottles inside. “These are dietary supplements, the instructions are on the labels – just make sure he’s taking them daily.” She smiled one more time in Ren’s direction. “He’s definitely getting there. Johann will be in touch.”

Horo tried to question Ren about what Faust had done and said during his check-up, but Ren wouldn’t say a word. Feeling it was probably personal, Horo dropped the subject, his planned trip to the bar long since chased from his mind.


	10. Chapter 10

Pirika squashed uncomfortably into the middle seat in the back of the car, between the huge frames of Tyreese and Daffy. Even she wasn’t permitted to sit in the front seat where Alai, Chocolove’s right hand man, was king. Chocolove was driving, of course, the first car in a long convoy that zipped along the road in a suburban area of the city. The men either side of her didn’t touch her thighs or breathe suggestively in her ears as they would have in Ryu’s gang. In fact, the men kept their hands stuck firmly in their pockets, so as not to touch her even accidentally. Chocolove still glanced through the rear view mirror sometimes, to check on her. The inside of the car was acrid with smoke, making it hard to draw a breath deep enough to expel the sickness she was feeling. She didn’t know their destination, but whenever they travelled like this, it was never anywhere good.

Chocolove and his gang were often involved in dealings with a drug runner who was well known in the city. They were often called up for raids, or drops, and sometimes even debt collection. Pirika had heard Chocolove on the telephone to him earlier, calling him ‘boss’, and receiving instructions. Chocolove often bragged that he had never seen this mysterious employer’s face, as though it was a trophy of his stupidity.

“Yo, you guys hear about Ryu?” Alai called back into the car.

Pirika stiffened at the mention of his name. Chocolove was already laughing. As far as he was concerned, Pirika’s knowledge of Ryu came entirely from them, his rival gang. The two leaders and their lackeys had been fighting a territorial war for years now, a bitter battle that had left their neighbourhood in perpetual chaos. Chocolove didn’t know Pirika had been Ryu’s girl since she had been working the streets, nor that he had been the one to get her into the game in the first place. And Ryu didn’t know that she sometimes met with Chocolove on her nights off. He was more libidinous but he paid far better.

Over Chocolove’s howling, Alai explained for the benefit of the others. “He hit that burger place downtown. Left his fingerprints all over it. Cops gotta bust him now.”

The men laughed raucously, and Pirika forced a giggle.

“Fuckin’ asshole couldn’t set a fart on fire,” Chocolove continued, jerking the steering wheel violently as he turned a corner, sending Pirika flying into Daffy. “Ain’t that right, baby?” His dark eyes were in the mirror again.

Pirika chuckled dismissively. “Tell me ‘bout it.”

Alai turned up the music, so the car began to sound like nothing more than a boombox on wheels. The tune was fast paced, with a loud bass and offensive lyrics, and strange electronic noises assaulting the ears during every verse. Pirika hated this kind of music but nodded her head along as expected. It unnerved her to think that Chocolove couldn’t hear a single noise around him as he drove, the blaring music drowning out the sound of every car they passed. Rain hammered down on the windscreen, making the tyres slick and dangerous. Where the water hit the asphalt, there was a thin mist as it bounced back up again, threatening visibility and making Chocolove’s driving that much more perilous. She didn’t trust him to be able to stop quickly enough if one of the cars they were riskily overtaking braked sharply or turned unexpectedly. She kept picturing the rest of the convoy behind them, close as they were, slamming one by one into their trunk, crunching metal and bones indiscriminately.

She began to notice the men getting itchy and fidgeting excitably. She took that to mean that they had nearly reached their destination.

The car skidded to a halt outside an old building, closed for renovation. She breathed a sigh of relief. At least there would be no one inside to come to any harm.

The men didn’t speak a word to one another, just began climbing out of the car as though they had rehearsed this a thousand times. Behind them, fifteen other men poured out of the cars that had followed them.

As Chocolove swung his feet on to the pavement, he turned his face to Pirika, a sly smile on his dark lips. “You wait here. Okay, baby?”

It wasn’t a question, not really, but Pirika nodded anyway.

He winked at her. “Good girl.”

She drew one desperate breath of fresh air as the door slammed shut. She watched him disappear to the trunk, as the gang gathered around and began to collect various items from inside. From underneath black tarpaulin sheets, they pulled out baseball bats, balaclavas and knives. The bottom dropped out of her stomach as the doors around her locked, and she was trapped. As the men pulled on their masks, Chocolove gestured not to the abandoned building they were parked in front of, but to a normal house a little way down the road.

The gang dropped into their usual formation, as organised chaos that protected them from all sides. Chocolove lead the charge, baseball bat hanging nonchalantly over his shoulder. She could see the outline of his pistol tucked into his waistband. Even though Pirika couldn’t admire their activities, even she had to admit that their operation was infinitely more polished than Ryu’s. Ryu’s gang looked like school children pulling pigtails in the playground compared to these thugs.

The silence in this quiet street was unsettling as she watched the gang swagger down the road. With nothing but the sound of her own fretful breath to comfort her, she was beginning to feel anxious. Not the kind of anxiety that made her want to vomit, but the kind of anxiety that made her want to curl up as small as she could, until her eyes and ears disappeared into her knees and she could no longer bear witness to the terrible events that were about to occur.

She knew the car doors were locked, but still she tugged on the handles weakly. Nothing happened.

The gang reached the door of the house. Pirika watched them gather around it, and Chocolove banged the knocker, once, twice. A man answered. Pirika was too far away to see his face, but she could imagine the terror he was feeling right now, met with a mob of twenty masked men, each one wielding a different fatal weapon. The man didn’t have much time to react as Chocolove forced his way inside. His lackeys followed. The door slammed shut. That man – or at least someone in that house – owed Chocolove’s boss money. It was a nice neighbourhood, and an even nicer house, but you could never be sure of the secret lives of some people.

Then nothing. The quiet, unsuspecting street was a thin veil for the carnage that was no doubt going on inside that house. Pirika saw vague shadows dart across the windows. Still nothing. Her breath misted the car window as she scrutinised the view.

After a few minutes of complete silence, a flash of light, too bright to be a house light, illuminated one of the windows. Pirika only caught it in the corner of her eye but then stared intently into the window where she had seen it happen. It was dark again, but the sensation of something brewing was agonising. A few moments later, the ground around the house grew brighter, and Pirika made out flames licking the edges of the window frames. They were torching the place.

The light of the fire, as it grew and climbed up the trellises of the house, bathed the garden in a hellish glow. That was how Pirika noticed the swingset. _There were children in there._

With a frightened cry, she hurled her weight against the car door, somehow hoping it would open. Of course, nothing happened.

She flung her fists at the windows, then tried her stiletto. The glass was stronger than she thought. All the while the flames grew wilder inside the house. She shouted and screamed and tried desperately to attract the attention of someone, anyone. But there was no one around to hear. She swore she could hear the screams of small children, a crying baby, but she couldn’t be sure it wasn’t all in her head.

Through the mist of raindrops on the window, she saw the door of the house flew open, and out billowed a noxious plume of smoke. She could just about hear fire alarms ringing as she watched Chocolove and his men file out, job done. One by one they dashed out on to the street, arms and pockets full of loot they had found inside. Pirika scrutinised each of them carefully through the haze of drizzle and smog, praying that at least one of them had had the heart to bring the children to safety. No, they needed their hands to carry jewellery and high-end electronics – far more important prizes.

Chocolove was the last to leave, no spoils in his hands, but brandishing a black spray paint can. He paused long enough to smear his symbol on the ground right outside the front entrance – a ram’s head, where the curl of the horn became the ‘C’ of his name. He was marking his territory, and declaring his victory. No doubt his ‘boss’ would be pleased with this one.

The men began piling back in to the cars, throwing their weapons and loot in alongside them. Chocolove and Alai flung open their doors, laughing and jostling with each other as though it was all one big joke. Tyreese and Daffy followed, and Pirika tried her best to sit still in her seat and not let the tears brewing in her eyes run down her cheeks.

Engines roaring, Chocolove pulled the car away sharply, tugging off his balaclava and hooting a war cry as he swerved dangerously into the road. As they sped away, the rest of the convoy close behind, Pirika could hear distant sirens approaching. Chocolove’s eyes were once again in the mirror but she still risked a guilty glance back at the house through the back window, bright red flames now engulfing the roof, the air thick with smoke. She saw embers drifting around the swing set and had to look away.


	11. Chapter 11

Since discovering Ren, Horo’s life had been turned on its head completely. The biggest change he had faced was that he had been unable to visit his usual bars. Though these sojourns had all but vanished in the last few weeks, his urge to drink had not. He had managed to abstain for a few nights, sweating and shaking on his bathroom floor – but today, he could not. Without work to fill his time, Horo had plenty of opportunity to visit the late-opening stores in his neighbourhood. Ren went with him of course, even obediently carrying bags for him on the trip home. Along with a few bits and pieces needed for Ren’s care, the bags were mostly stock-piled with litre bottles of cheap whiskey. The white-label stuff, full of unnecessary ingredients but high alcohol content. He stashed them away at the back of his kitchen cupboard – for emergencies, he told himself.

The first ‘emergency’ happened to be the very same night he bought the bottles. He had helped Ren to bed, after a long struggle with washing, clothing, eating and denying him his usual night-time rituals. When he walked back into the living room, Ren safely tucked away in the darkness, the emptiness hit him like a solid wall.

He had nothing more to do today. No structure, no hobbies, no ability to leave the house. He felt stuck. The cupboard with his secret stash was soon opened, and within half an hour, most of the first bottle had been drained. There was an old black and white movie playing on the TV and Horo lacked the motivation to change it. He sat alone in the dim flickering light, drinking his poison straight from the bottle.

At some point, he had picked up an old bit of whittling he had started months ago. When they were younger, Horo and his sister had spent many happy hours carving with their father. He had taught them the craft, being a carpenter by trade, and it was one of the first things they had all bonded over. For hours they would sit, forming crude animals and dolls out of the wood, their father watching on proudly. Since he had died, Horo had barely touched the tools he had been given. Pirika had given up the practice altogether.

Digging out his old carving knife from the back of a drawer, he sat with the wooden figure in his hands, and chipped away. The static reception of the TV seemed only to encourage his blank state, the state in which, without rhyme or reason, he continued to carve at his rough-hewn creation. The bottle lay ignored for a while.

He was disturbed by a creak on the old floorboards. He turned his head slowly, to keep time with his lagging vision. Ren stood nervously behind the sofa.

“Weren’t you asleep?” he asked, sluggishly.

Ren shrugged daintily. “I woke up.”

Horo gestured for Ren to sit down beside him. “I forgot you didn’t used to sleep much, did you?”

Ren shook his head, eyes wandering to the TV. “No, only a few hours a night.”

Silence settled, and Horo continued his carving.

“What’s that?” Ren quietly ventured.

“This? It’s just a piece I started a while ago. Before we met. I’m not really sure what it’s supposed to be.” Horo tilted the figure side to side in his hands, squinting at the detail. It was a person, most likely a woman. She wore a long, flowing dress, her arms outstretched, a solemn look upon her face. Now he thought about it, it almost looked like a figure of Mary, like those he had seen upon the walls of churches.

“No, I meant that,” Ren said, pointing at the bottle on the table.

“Oh… oh, that,” Horo sighed. “It’s alcohol. You’ve seen it before, right?”

Ren shook his head. Horo noticed he was twiddling his fingers excitably, something he’d never seen him do before. He turned back to his carving.

“It’s bad, anyway. You should stay away from it.”

“You’ve been drinking it,” Ren said, matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, but I’m an idiot,” Horo said, feeling the truth of his words.

“My daddy used to drink that.”

Slowly, recognition started to bloom in Horo’s mind. He looked at Ren carefully. “You… have a dad?”

Ren nodded. Horo saw a flash of something in his wide eyes, a childishness that wasn’t usually there. His voice was livelier, a little higher pitched than it had been earlier in the day.

“You’re not… you, are you?”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Horo set his carving down, and turned his body to face Ren squarely. “What’s your name?”

Ren frowned. “It’s Thomas.” He tilted his head knowingly, almost cheekily, and continued to play with his fingers.

Horo’s mind was too cloudy, he took a careful mental step through the thick molasses that were his thoughts. “That’s not your name,” was all he managed to say.

“Is so!” Ren exclaimed, eyes wide with indignation.

“Okay, so… who’s your father?”

“Daddy is daddy.”

“You don’t know his name?”

“His name is daddy.”

Horo pressed his spinning head into his hands. This didn’t make sense. Ren had gone to sleep and woken up, thinking he was someone else? Was he even awake at all?

Ren got bored of waiting for Horo to respond, and picked up the carved figure casually. He slowly began to walk it across the sofa cushions. It made wide jumps and somersaults to ascend the armrest mountains.

“Oh, I know! Can we play hide-and-seek?” Ren exclaimed, clutching the figure tight with both hands. “I’m the best at hide-and-seek.”

“Wait, Ren-“ Horo began.

“You’re it, okay?” Ren sprang up from the sofa, rocking on the balls of his feet. “You count to twenty, then come find me. And no peeking! Ready, go!”

Ren scrambled away and Horo’s head rang with the noise he made, screeching excitably as he dashed across the room. “Ren!” Horo groaned in protest.

“You’ve got to count!” Ren called back, diving into the kitchen.

Horo was struggling to process his current situation, mind muffled by the cheap whiskey. Annoyingly, he could feel the effects of the alcohol already fading and the cold ache of a hangover beginning to take its place. He suddenly felt tired, not to mention overwhelmed. To buy himself some time, he buried his head in his hands and began to count.

“One… two… three…”

It seemed Ren truly believed he was a child again. It seemed the most logical thing to do was to get him back to bed. Perhaps he was sleep walking? Perhaps if he went back to sleep he would wake up as Ren again?

“Four… five… six…”

He was too tired. Faust must have known something about this. What made him think Horo was cut out to handle these outbursts? He would have had half a mind to call him, if it wasn’t so late. And he wasn’t terrified of getting scolded for drinking.

“Seven… eight…”

Perhaps the simplest thing to do was to play along for now. He needed to get Ren to stop the game and go to bed. The only way to achieve that was to see this through.

“Nine… ten… eleven…”

A crash echoed around the apartment. Despite himself, Horo leapt to his feet. Had Ren fallen? Was he hurt?

No, the front door. It was swinging open, holding on by just one hinge. A man stood in the opening. The same man who had just kicked in the door. More people crowded around behind him. Horo squinted against the light outside, trying to make sense of the face he saw before him. He knew him. “Ryu?”

“The brother,” Ryu announced to the people following him inside. The rest of his gang. In just a few short strides, Ryu had pushed his way into the living room and was towering above Horo, a monster of a man. His lackeys followed.

Ryu surveyed the room down the length of his pointed nose. “Where’s Pirika? She here?”

Watching the men file into his home, Horo shook his head feebly. “N-no… I haven’t seen her for days.”

Ryu locked eyes with him, stared him down, as though testing his truthfulness.

“Search the place,” Ryu barked, letting his men push forward into every room. They bust into cupboards, kicked open doors, ransacked beds and sofas.

All Horo could think as he watched these men tear apart his pathetic furniture was, _Ren, please stay hidden._

Ryu remained, fixed in place, blocking Horo from making any sudden movements. Not that he’d have stood a chance against any of them anyway. He tried to subtly glance around the room to see if he could catch sight of Ren, or even get a clue as to where he was hiding, but Ryu held his gaze fast. If they found Ren hiding, especially in his current state, they would destroy him for sure.

One by one, the men emerged from each room. They shook their heads to Ryu. Pirika was not there.

Ryu snarled with disappointment and grabbed Horo by the collar. His feet left the ground. Ryu’s breath was hot and tobacco-infused as he snorted into Horo’s face.

“Where is she?”

“I-I really don’t know,” Horo slurred out, mind still preoccupied with Ren’s whereabouts. He thought he saw a movement in the corner of his eye. “I thought she was with you!”

Ryu’s face contorted and his grip tightened. “Your little slut of a sister is creepin’ around behind my back. This ain’t the way things are done, you hear me? If I find out she’s been fuckin’ someone else, she’s fuckin’ _dead_ , got it?”

“I’m- I’m-“ Horo wanted to apologise, reason, argue, _anything_ to draw attention from the movement he could definitely see on the other side of the room. The eyes of Ryu’s men were turned on every corner of that room and yet they hadn’t seen the stirring in the shadows. If they did, Ren would…

A fist flew into his jaw, and the image he held of Ren’s face exploded into stars.

“When you see that little bitch, you tell her Ryu’s looking for her, yeah?” Ryu spat. He threw Horo sprawling on the ground. The next thing he felt was Ryu’s beaten trainers coming up right between his legs. The impact made his spine shake and he supressed the urge to vomit.

“Anything worth taking, boys?” Ryu asked his gang. The response was negative mumblings and Ryu clicked his teeth in disappointment. Curled up in a foetal position on the floor, writhing in pain, Horo felt Ryu’s face come close to his own again. “You tell her to watch her back.”

Horo managed to get an image of the room between the fireworks erupting in his eyes and head. They were leaving. Ren was still hidden. _Thank God._ Watching them walk away through one swelling eye, his gratitude washed over him in waves.

Then the movement in the darkness sprang out into the light of the room.

But no, it wasn’t Ren. It wasn’t even Thomas. The person that launched himself at Ryu, fists flying, a primal scream echoing from his lungs, was someone else entirely. Ryu went flying back into his men, sending them all sprawling.

Ren stood over them all, his small stature somehow enhanced immeasurably. Horo could make out the definition of muscles in his silhouette. He was there for no more than a split second before he descended on the blind-sided Ryu.

The next few minutes were a sea of sprawling limbs and cries of pain. Horo would not make out whose blood was whose as punches and kicks were thrown. Here an elbow, there a kneecap. From somewhere, a glass bottle was thrown and it smashed against the floor. One bleeding lip, one dripping bite-mark. Horo tried to drag himself up from the ground. He needed to help Ren. Ryu’s men were killing him. But his spine ached and his head pounded and his arms felt like stone. He was drowning in a whiskey haze and he could not save himself. Even less so Ren.

Through his tears of pain and frustration, Horo could see the bodies of grown men falling to the floor like felled trees. Others scampered over their fallen comrades to run out of the door. Finally, only two remained: Ryu and, somehow, Ren. Ryu was bleeding from a deep gash above his right eye, and was cradling his arm defensively. Ren seemed relatively unscathed.

Ryu threw a punch that Ren neatly dodged, jamming a sharp elbow underneath Ryu’s ribcage as he did. The blow winded Ryu, and he gnashed his teeth and sprang forward again, attempting to grab Ren by the hair.

Ren moved effortlessly, silently, and like a dancer he moved out of Ryu’s reach and forced another square punch into Ryu’s kidneys. The impact was devastating and precise. Ryu howled in pain and dropped to his knees. One of his escaping men tried to help him up but Ryu pushed him away and the lackey carried on running.

Ryu turned with fire in his eyes back to Ren, who was standing motionless, fists raised, just waiting. Horo had only seen this level of serenity mid-fight in kung-fu movies.

Ryu dashed at him ferociously, swinging wildly for Ren’s face. Ren blocked the punch effortlessly, and without so much as a change in his expression, swung his leg around in a wide arc and his foot connected with the bloody mess that had been Ryu’s nose.

Ryu howled with pain and, clutching his face, he bellowed back into the apartment, “You’ll fuckin’ pay for this!”

Trailing blood into the hallway, he and his remaining cohorts turned and fled, leaving the broken door swinging sadly on its single hinge.

Horo, still lying on the ground in his state of stupor, mouth now agape with awe, watched Ren hold his stance. Suddenly his eyes glazed over and he collapsed to the floor in a crumpled heap. Like a building collapsing – one moment he was there, solid and unyielding – the next, he was dust.

This finally roused Horo enough for him to make a move. He clambered as quickly as his aching body would allow to sit at Ren’s side.

“Ren, are you okay?”

Ren’s entire body was shaking, violent jerks almost like convulsions. His knuckles were bleeding, his chest heaving with each frantic breath, and his eyes filled with tears of agony. His skin, which had moments ago seemed completely unmarked, was now littered with innumerable wounds and bruises. It was as though all the injuries he sustained during the fight had converged upon him all at once.

“Ren, please! Talk to me!” Horo pleaded, feeling tears sting at his eyes as all of the adrenaline rushed from his body.

Ren wasn’t capable of speech. His limbs moved like jelly as he pawed helplessly at his injuries, with a look so bewildered it almost seemed as though he was having trouble understanding the pain.

“This is my fault…” Horo choked, watching Ren writhing helplessly. “If I hadn’t been… if I wasn’t…” He cast his teary eyes begrudgingly at the bottle of whiskey, now spilling its contents all over the living room carpet. He was useless. He couldn’t do this alone. He swallowed what little pride he had left.

“I’m going to call Faust,” he announced, finally.


	12. Chapter 12

A few hours later, Faust stormed into Horo’s apartment with a look of thunder on his face. Horo had, with difficulty, managed to get Ren lying down on the sofa, and began seeing to some of his more serious wounds – completely ignoring his own.

Faust had found him kneeling next to Ren, blindly fumbling with bandages and antiseptic cream. The doctor snatched them away with a huff of derision.

“No wonder this sort of thing happens, if you keep leaving your door wide open like that.”

Horo didn’t even try to argue back. He had attempted to fix the door, but had still left it unlocked. He rested back helplessly on the floor while Faust checked Ren’s temperature and blood pressure and began redressing his wounds with a much more skilled hand.

Ren’s face was pallid and still – a far cry from the pure rage Horo had seen in his eyes during the fight. He could hardly believe someone so meek had seen away one of the most feared gangs in the neighbourhood, single-handedly. Now he lay in a coma-like trance, not moving, barely breathing.

“You were drunk again?” Faust muttered, his face inches from Ren’s as he shone a light into his empty eyes.

Horo looked away in shame. “Yeah…”

“Go and get yourself cleaned up,” Faust instructed, without so much as glancing at him.

Horo shuffled off into the bathroom with laboured difficulty. He showered, washing the dried blood from his face and the nasty gash on his arm, then rinsed the smell of stale alcohol from his hair. He took his time, not particularly wanting to return to Faust’s disapproving looks and derisive comments. He couldn’t close his eyes without seeing the blood-thirsty look of power on Ren’s face as he towered over Ryu and his lackeys – a sight that made his very blood run cold and instil in him a very real sense of vulnerability. He forced his eyes wide open as the shampoo ran down into them, burning his irises like acid.

When he eventually plucked up the courage to return to the living room – fully dressed but with wounds still bleeding steadily – he had to do a double-take when he saw what Faust had done.

He had pushed back all of the furniture against the walls, creating a wide open space, in the middle of which he was constructing some unnamed contraption. Ren still lay out cold on the sofa, pushed now to the other side of the room.

“Good, you’re dressed,” Faust noted, standing from where he was crouched on the floor. He grabbed a bandage from his medi-kit and hastily bandaged Horo’s injured arm, making no special effort to avoid inflicting extra pain. “Now, I want you to leave for a while.”

“Leave?” Horo started. “Why?”

Faust fixed him with a warning stare. “It doesn’t matter ‘why’. Just leave me to work in peace for a while.”

“Won’t you need my help to-“

“I will need no such thing,” Faust snapped. He reached into his pocket and dug out his wallet. Fishing out some notes, he tried to push them into Horo’s hands. “Just go and entertain yourself for a few hours. I daresay you’ve been help enough already tonight.”

“But-“

“Horokeu, please!” Faust barked, making Horo quiver slightly at the force of his words. “I do not care what you do with yourself, but I need you to disappear for a few hours. Do what you want with the money. Go and get yourself blind drunk again if you have to. Just leave me in peace!” With one last decisive push, Faust pressed the messy handful of notes against Horo’s chest.

Horo took them wordlessly, a deep sense of shame falling over him. With one more worried look towards Ren, he left, grabbing nothing but his keys and closing the crippled door behind him.

Upon leaving Ren this time, he felt the absence profoundly. He had spent the vast majority of his life in his own company – a fact that had suited him very well until recently. He supposed he must be getting used to having his charge around. He never thought he’d miss having to worry about someone. His mind was preoccupied with the young man lying unconscious back in his apartment, like he had left something of great importance behind, at the mercy of a madman. Which, he supposed, he more or less had. He fretted about Ren as he wandered listlessly through the hallways of the building.

He realised quickly that he had nowhere to go. His stomach still churned with adrenaline and the remains of the alcohol he had consumed, which turned him straight off food and the otherwise appealing notion of heading to his favourite bar.

He passed by the cinema and the library in a similar fashion, even took a detour past Faust’s clinic though he knew it would be closed and empty. He considered dropping in on Yoh at Burger Galore, before remembering that the place had been razed to the ground. It occurred to him that he had no idea where Yoh even lived these days, so it wasn’t as though he could just drop in.

He spent the time instead wandering absent-mindedly through the city streets, Faust’s money burning a guilty hole in his pocket. He watched the bikes, cars and buses zip by him with disinterest. He noticed how the colour of everything began to change as morning started to rise, and those speeding vehicles became nothing more than tiny creatures inching their ways forward in the rush hour mayhem. He wore no watch to tell the time, and hadn’t seen a clock in the city for many miles now – a spiteful trick of the retailers to ensure shoppers lost track of time and wandered blindly into their stores, whittling away countless hours.

It was properly morning when he arrived back upon his doorstep, not even a penny of Faust’s money spent. When he had plucked up the courage to enter, he felt an unexpected surge of anger as he saw what Faust was doing.

Faust was crouched over something in the middle of the empty space, furniture still cleared aside. The thing he was studying was Ren, lying prone on the floor with his eyes wide open yet oddly unseeing. The contraption that Faust had been building when Horo had left was now beneath Ren. It was suddenly very obviously a restraint. Ren’s wrists were shackled down to the overall structure of the thing, his feet bound similarly at the bottom. A steel rod that connected these cuffs ran along him length-wise, flat along his spine, and kept him gripped at his forehead, waist and knees with tight cords.

“What are you doing to him?” Horo exclaimed, anger boiling over as he charged into the room.

Faust apparently hadn’t noticed his arrival, and jolted at Horo’s raised voice. He looked towards him sharply, furiously, and put a white-gloved finger to his pale lips.

Horo didn’t take the hint. “You can’t put him there, he’s hurt! He needs-“ He stormed closer in order to free Ren, ready to fight Faust to do it, but the doctor grabbed at his wrists before he got so much as a chance. He was unexpectedly strong.

“I’ve put him there _precisely_ so he doesn’t make his injuries any worse,” Faust hissed under his breath. “And I happen to be in the middle of a very delicate process with him, so I would _appreciate_ your cooperation in being quiet and removing yourself from my presence!”

Horo did as he was told, but not without a hesitant glance at Ren first. He pulled his arm away from Faust and headed straight into his bedroom. Closing the door quietly, he sank down on the floor with his back against it.

Within a few moments, he could hear Ren’s voice reverberating softly through the door. He seemed to be speaking single words, not sentences, and to no one in particular. Every now and again, Faust would interject with a short comment, and Ren would again stream off another bunch of syllables. The volume at which they both spoke and the door between them made it hard for Horo to hear what was being said. He sat in the dark, straining his ears, before his curiosity finally peaked. He slipped back in to the living room, closing the door noiselessly. Faust was too engrossed in the process, scribbling notes furiously into a notepad, to notice Horo slip in and perch gently on the corner of the sofa.

“Yellow… gypsum… tigress…” Ren was chanting, like a disconnected mantra. The blank expression had not lifted from his face, making his mouth movements seem mechanical. Horo couldn’t see how it was possible for him to be talking. He still seemed unconscious.

“Yellow; define,” Faust murmured to Ren, who began again.

“Arakiel… coadjutant… malignant.”

“Ren, do you have a family?”

“Father. Mother. Sister.” Horo swore he saw something pass over Ren’s vacant eyes as he spoke, though his voice betrayed nothing.

“Do you know your sister’s name?”

“Jun.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

This time, Ren did not respond. Faust waited for a few moments before moving on. “When was the last time you saw your father?”

“Seven years, circa. Black as midnight,” Ren said tonelessly. A few split seconds passed, and Ren jerked horribly in his restraints. Horo let out an audible gasp as he watched Ren flail helplessly. Faust noticed him then, but was more concerned with Ren’s well-being to say too much. The doctor laid a large hand across Ren’s forehead, covering his eyelids gently with his fingers. Ren reacted right away to the touch, body falling limp and face growing expressionless once more.

In the same calm voice with which he had been addressing Ren, Faust spoke to Horo without looking at him. “I thought I told you to stay away.”

Horo ignored him, transfixed with Ren’s flaccid state. “What’s happening to him?”

“I’ve triggered a certain state in him. Think of it like running a diagnostic on a malfunctioning computer. The computer will present you with facts about its present condition and nothing more. The same applies here. It’s useful for gleaning information otherwise alien to his other personalities.”

“Other personalities?” Horo asked, a lump in his throat.

“Let me ask you: has Ren appeared to become someone else in front of you?”

Horo cast his mind back. Just hours ago, Horo had watched Ren become a child, and then a martial arts master in front of his eyes. Not only that, his behaviour had been erratic since the moment they had met. “Yes.”

“Those other personalities are his alters,” Faust explained, still scribbling notes. “That’s what the programmers call them.”

“I’m not sure I’m following. Programmers? Alters? What’s the matter with him exactly?”

Faust finally rested his pen and looked towards Horo. “You’ve heard those science fiction stories – what do they call it? Mind control? The domination of the minds of an entire populace… controlling every thought, feeling and action of any given person? Well, you’re looking at the reality of it.”

“So… aliens did this to him?”

Faust sighed with annoyance. “No. This is the work of humans. Morally-bankrupt and intrinsically evil humans, but humans none the less. They’ve broken down this young man’s mind and rebuilt it to serve their own corrupt purposes.”

Horo churned over the concept in his mind. “How do you even go about doing that to someone?”

“By utilising one of the brain’s natural defence mechanisms. You’ve no doubt heard tales of people who have gone through traumatic or near-death experiences – a car accident for example. Even immediately after the event, the victim can recall absolutely no details of the trauma and the lead up to it. That is how your mind copes with problems like these, it helps you forget so you can carry on with your life as you did before, not beaten down by fear or anxiety. But the memory isn’t gone forever. It can be unlocked through hypnotism, use of illicit substances, any number of means. This is because your mind has not ‘erased’ the memory, but in fact stored it away, in a place impenetrable to your waking mind. And now your mind is what we call ‘fragmented’. There is a compartment that you can no longer access. If you had another traumatic event in your life, a separate compartment would be created for that individual memory, and so on.

“Certain people in the government found out that they can abuse this survival skill around seventy years ago. They found that inflicting deliberate trauma on a person would create much the same effect, and they could manufacture these compartments to suit their own needs. They found they could ‘password protect’ the compartments they had created, and store within it information, skills, any manner of mental and physical advantages, all to bring itself to the surface at the utterance of the ‘password’, or exposure to a certain colour, symbol, situation, and so on. The combat abilities Ren has demonstrated today for instance, were triggered by his proximity to physical violence.”

“So someone’s _put_ these abilities in his head?”

“Yes. And the personality that harbours these skills exists to protect Ren from certain traumatic memories. For instance, he cannot access either the combat training or the memories sealed within while in his waking state. These sealed personalities are known as alters. Most likely, Ren has little to no awareness of their existence.”

“And that ‘waking state’ – that’s not Ren either?”

“That’s as close to Ren as you’re going to find. A shadow of the person he once was, no doubt. He is kept fraught and highly suggestible, for triggering.”

“When you say they caused him ‘deliberate trauma’, what do you mean by that?” Horo asked solemnly, not sure if he really wanted to hear the answer.

Faust gave him a look that said he wished he hadn’t asked, but he continued to explain anyway. “The trauma can vary from victim to victim, but from what I’ve seen of Ren’s physical state, I’d say his conditioning has included starvation, sleep deprivation, physical assault, and most prevalently, sexual abuse.”

The bottom dropped out of Horo’s stomach as looked down with pity at Ren, none the wiser to their conversation. He could almost be a doll with the minimal signals of life he gave away. To consider what the young man had been through was a monstrous task, and Horo wasn’t sure he was ready to comprehend it fully yet.

“But, wait… just the other night, he was telling me he thought he was an angel,” Horo mused.

Faust frowned at him intensely. “And you didn’t think to mention that to me?”

Horo held out his hands defensively. “You didn’t exactly give me chance.”

The doctor conceded, realising that Horo was right. “So it’s religious programming,” he said, turning to monitor Ren again.

“What does that mean?”

“Ren’s Handlers – the people who control and program him – have used a religious tale to keep Ren’s waking mind allegiant to them. Religion is an excellent tool for selling insane ideas to most people, particularly someone as suggestible as Ren. By making Ren think that he is indebted to them or utterly lost without their care, they ensure his loyalty. It’s quite a common tactic.” Faust turned his dull eyes on Horo, amusedly. “Doubtless he now sees you as one of them. He thinks of you as a Handler.”

Horo was suddenly indignant. “Wh-What? I’m nothing like these people, I’ve-“

Faust shook his head to silence him. “You’re not as cruel as they, but you _have_ said something to win the same trust. I hope you realise that this is a very serious responsibility for you, Horokeu.”

Horo didn’t doubt how serious it was, but he did question whether or not this was something he was capable of being. He had only ever cared for one other person in his life, and that was Pirika. He remembered bitterly how that had turned out. But Ren had chosen him as a guardian, and it must be for a reason. He couldn’t betray that level of trust.

“Can you find out who did this to him?” Horo asked determinedly. “He has to have that knowledge stored somewhere, right?”

“If only it were that simple. He has multiple layers of complex programming that could take many years to break. They don’t leave the most valuable information near the surface after all. Deliberately messing around in his programming may trigger something unpleasant, both for Ren and for us. This boy’s effectively a ticking time-bomb.”

“So what do we do?” Horo pressed, feeling more powerless by the second.

Faust studied for a moment. “The best course of treatment is reintegration. That is, working with Ren to bring all of his fractured personalities back into his real self, making him one whole person, if you will. It involves bringing down the walls around the mind’s compartments and allowing the waking state direct access to their contents.”

“But that means Ren will remember all the stuff that’s been done to him.”

“Unfortunately, yes. And not all of it will be pleasant. But I believe these are issues we can work through as a unit. You and I have to help him Horo, and guide him through this difficult process. That’s the only way we can find out who is responsible for this atrocity.”

Horo shook his head in wide-eyed amazement. “You sure know a lot about this. I wouldn’t even have known where to start.”

Faust was busying himself with freeing Ren from the restraint. “I’m a doctor, what more can be said? I have a particular soft spot for neurosciences.”

Horo helped Faust pack up his things and reorganise the living room before Faust woke Ren gently. After he had roused – still beaten, but none the wiser – Faust gave Horo some more instructions for his care and, taking his bags, promised to return soon to begin his reintegration work.


	13. Chapter 13

It was another glorious day for Marco Lasso. He awoke as he normally did in his large house in an affluent area of the city. The house was made primarily of white marble, its features adorned with gold. His car – a ’92 Ferrari Testarossa – was parked outside his front door, at the end of his long driveway. His breakfast was prepared for him by his live-in maid, his suit pressed for him and ready for him to wear. Marco had everything he could ever want in his life, and very little of it was down to his occupation.

As far as the world was concerned, Marco was a car salesman. He had his own dealership on the outskirts of the city, specialising in top of the range sports cars. However, his turnover was not outstanding, hardly enough to support his preferred lifestyle. The profit margin on a Ferrari after purchase and maintenance was actually fairly slim. No, Marco’s cars were simply just a hobby for him. He didn’t have to work, not if he didn’t want to. And yet, he opened his dealership like clockwork, six days a week, with no staff other than himself to run it. Some days, he would sit in his small office and just watch the sun bouncing off the metallic bonnets of his precious cars, marvelling at their beauty and the perfection of the vehicles. Some days he would speak to no one at all, and he liked those days the most.

This morning, as any other morning, Marco dressed in his white suit and cornflower blue tie, said his morning prayers, and climbed into his car. The gates at the end of his driveway opened for him as he drove through, like Moses parting the seas. He listened to classical music on his short drive to work. He found it cleared his mind and prepared him for the day, the few hours he could act like a normal person and have an average life.

Marco was originally from Sicily, a popular island tourist destination in Italy. He had been an orphan, though he couldn’t remember those days. He had been taken in early on by a man named Luchist. An affluent figure in society, he was involved in many government affairs, though Marco never fully understood his role until he was much older, when Luchist took Marco under his wing and the two of them began working on a project that would forever change their lives. It was this same project that brought them later to America, where they now lived. This work was the real source of Marco’s wealth.

He turned his car on to the smooth pavement of his dealership, and parked it effortlessly in the one ‘reserved’ lot in the park. His name glinted in gold from all the signs around him.

Unlocking his office ̶ which had windows on all sides so he could survey his territory unhindered – he turned on the lights, the heater, and set his coffee machine to brew. He sat down in his plush leather chair and reclined it slightly. Then he cast his eyes out to the glorious view in front of him. His blood froze in his veins.

Directly in his eyeline was a white Ferrari California, probably his favourite car after his Testarossa. He parked it right there so he could admire it over all of the others. It was a constant source of beauty to him, but today, it was hideous.

Across the side of the car, in bright red paint that made the red leather of the interior pale in comparison, was the word ‘WŌDEN’.

Marco scrambled desperately to his phone, fingers scrambling to call the police. He came to his senses mid-dial. He couldn’t call them for this.

He marched in fury to his security system. There were five cameras pointed in every direction of the parking lot. He would soon see who had done this. He rewound the footage, heart assaulting his chest with every frantic beat.

The screen was still for a long time. Then an image flickered across it and he paused the video. He pressed play, checked the timestamp: 3:14am. By 3:15, a figure had wandered on to the lot. It had jumped over the fence with purpose, and made a straight track towards his office. Marco squinted at the screen, adjusting his glasses to see. Whoever it was had had the sense to cover themselves up. He could not tell if it was a man or a woman, if they were old or young. The only thing he could tell for sure was the person’s height in comparison to the cars he knew so well. The person was tall. They stopped with their back to the office, as though testing out the view. Decisively, they stepped towards the California, now brandishing the spray paint. Marco watched with boiling rage as they quickly formed the letters over the glossy doors of the car. He slammed down the stop button, unable to watch as the person left the lot unhindered. This got him nowhere.

Turning quickly on his heels, he marched outside, ignoring the beep of his coffee machine and sank to his knees next to the California in despair. Tears and dread blurred his vision as he touched his fingertips to the garish paint now ruining his prized vehicle. He could not separate his sense of mourning from his fear.

Someone knew.


	14. Chapter 14

When Faust called them for Ren’s first reintegration session, Horo was oddly eager. They were to go to Faust’s clinic that day, with Horo allowed to sit in as Ren’s pillar of support.

Just as he had before, Faust had closed the clinic for the afternoon, and Eliza let them in through the locked doors when they arrived.

“Ren, do you know why I’ve asked you here today?” Faust questioned, sitting across from Ren in his swivel chair. Horo perched on the corner of the examination bed, remaining just barely in Ren’s eye-line.

“Horo told me you wanted to talk to me,” Ren answered, warily. In truth, he had resisted coming when Horo had mentioned the conversation that Faust wanted to have. But Horo had promised his safety, and he had eventually followed.

“That’s right. I wanted to ask you if you’ve ever experienced any blank spells during your life? Times where you’ve found yourself in a different place, or time, and with no memory of how you got there?”

“Sometimes…” Ren shuffled uncomfortably under the doctor’s stare.

“Okay. And are you aware of any other people, beside yourself, that inhabit your body?”

Ren’s fingers curled around the hem of his clothing and he yanked at it in despair. “I hear some of them, sometimes.”

“Ren, what I want to do is try to talk to those voices myself, the ones responsible for your blank spells,” Faust explained, softly. Horo marvelled at his bedside manner, a stark contrast to the abrasiveness the doctor usually demonstrated to him. “I want to break down those barriers of communication between you and the voices and allow you to interact with them. Do you think that would be okay?”

Ren’s delicate face screwed up in fear. “Will it hurt?”

“Not physically. But you may remember some things, painful things, that you thought you had forgotten. But this is all part of the healing process. To find out who you really are, we need to bring all your separate parts into one whole: that’s you, Ren.”

Ren turned to look at Horo, words of protest on his lips. Horo waited for Faust’s permission to speak before saying, gently, “I think it’s worth a shot. I wouldn’t have brought you here if I thought it wasn’t, or that Faust might hurt you. Trust me. Trust _him.”_

Ren golden eyes scanned over him, once, twice. When he turned back to Faust, he spoke with confidence. “What do you need me to do?”

Faust gave Horo a nod of approval before continuing. “I just need you to be as relaxed as possible, so in a moment, I’m going to ask you to watch this pendulum for me.” Faust reached into the briefcase beside him and pulled out a large black disc, tied to a string. “It’s just something to focus on to help you relax, it’s nothing to be concerned about. This is perfectly safe and nothing frightening will happen.”

Ren nodded, staring at the disc with concern.

“I noticed when we spoke last that you have strong associations with colours. I’m going to try and use them to bring out the voices. Does that sound okay?”

Ren took one more reassuring glance at Horo, before nodding his assent.

“Then let’s begin. I’d like you to focus on the pendulum and sit as comfortably as you can. Good. Now I just want you to concentrate on the sound of my voice as you watch the pendulum swing. Try not to focus on other things. Just focus on the sound of my voice. Simply by listening and concentrating on my voice, you will find that your body begins to become more and more relaxed and comfortable, just a pleasant, warm, natural sensation of relaxation and calmness as you listen. Close your eyes.”

Horo almost obeyed, the hypnotic repetition of Faust’s words lulling him to submission. Though Ren was no longer watching, the pendulum still swung rhythmically from Faust’s fingers.

“I want you to imagine you are immersing yourself in the colour yellow. The bright and dazzling glow of the sun. The chartreuse centre of a flower. The zest of a lemon, the glassy surface of amber. Now it will be as if a blank spell is starting. Just like when there is a blank spell in your life outside.”

Ren sat still, in a trance-like state. Horo could easily have believed he had fallen asleep, carried blissfully away by Faust’s somniferous words.

“You will find that memories of the blank spells are coming forward so that I can talk to the part of your mind that holds them. That part of your mind will be here and be able to talk with me directly. While this is happening, your body will stay sitting in the chair, comfortable and relaxed. Now, open your eyes.”

\--

He opened his eyes, just as the voice had commanded. The voice sounded other-worldly, perhaps even divine – was it the Lord himself?

As the room came into focus, he found himself looking at a doctor with unkempt hair and pallid complexion. If he turned his head slightly, he could see someone else in the room with them; he seemed familiar, but unimportant.

The doctor drew his attention back as he spoke. “Who am I speaking to?”

“You may call me Micah.”

“Micah, my name is Dr Faust. I am working with Ren to help him reintegrate. Do you know what that means?”

He nodded confidently. “You want to make us all one and the same.”

“That’s right,” the doctor replied, taking a few notes. “So you’ve been listening to our conversations.”

“Of course. I am Ren’s holy guardian, and anything that threatens his well-being is my concern. I am always present.”

“You’re his guardian?” Dr Faust raised an eyebrow sceptically. “What does he need guarding _from,_ exactly?”

Micah didn’t care for his tone. He scowled as he said, “Against threats such as you. Anything and anyone that might divert him from his holy path.”

“His path to becoming an angel?”

“So it seems you’ve been listening too,” Micah said, bitterly. “Yes, I am one of Ren’s angelic brothers and I am here, at his side, to ensure he does not stray from his path of servitude and penitence.”

“Then you work with the group – the Grigori, was it?”

Micah was mildly impressed. The doctor knew more than he should. “I ‘work’ with Samjaza, and in turn, our Lord in Heaven. Ren is not aware of my existence, but I am upon his shoulder to turn him away from corruption and sin, at Samjaza’s discretion.”

The blue-haired boy spoke up from across the room. “Do you know who Samjaza is? What’s his real name?”

The doctor tensed. He turned in his chair to address the young man, hostility in his words. “Horokeu! I will forgive your slip of the tongue this time, but in future, please remain quiet while I am working with the alters.” To Micah, he said, “I apologise. Please continue.”

Micah was amused at the boy’s forwardness. He remembered him then, the young man who had interrupted his ritual nights before. He decided to address him instead. “I’m afraid I can’t give you an answer. I ‘know’ Samjaza, yes. But only in his capacity within the Grigori, and nothing more. I have no interest in his personal life.”

The boy looked disappointed, but apart from a hurt glance at Dr Faust, he didn’t respond.

“Micah, allow me to be frank,” Dr Faust continued, crossing his knees as he spoke. “I believe that the Grigori have been abusing Ren, abusing the very body you inhabit. If you are Ren’s guardian, how can you allow this poor treatment to continue?”

“I think you misunderstand my function,” Micah said, impatiently.

“Then please, enlighten us,” Dr Faust said, a hint of mockery in his dulcet tones. “The way I that I see it, your only function is to antagonise Ren into believing he is an angel and bending entirely to Samjaza’s will. None of which fits the description of what I’d consider a ‘guardian’ to be.”

Micah felt a stirring in his mind. The animosity Dr Faust was displaying was upsetting some of the others. One of them in particular. It seemed an irresponsible way for a doctor to be behaving, especially when he did not know the intricate web of Ren’s mind. But it seemed to be more than that. The man was too clever. It had to be part of a game he was trying to play. _Well,_ Micah thought, _let him play._

“The Lord have pity on you, Dr Faust, if this is how you spend your time. Harassing your patients and belittling them for sport. You are an unholy man.”

Dr Faust barked a single syllable of a laugh, tossing his clipboard aside as though in disbelief. “Unholy? Nothing sounds unholier than starving, beating and raping a young man, all in the name of God!”

Horokeu interjected then, in a quiet voice, “Um, Faust? Is this going okay? Do you need me to-?”

“It’s going just fine,” the doctor said, without taking his scathing eyes off Micah. “I’m just challenging the logic of this obviously inadequate alter.”

Micah winced as pain speared through his temples. The other one was stirring, chomping at the bit to escape. Micah was inclined to let him, to see how brave Dr Faust dealt with _him_ instead.

“No retort, holy Micah?” the doctor pushed. “Or are you weak under pressure? Believe me, this is nothing compared to what Ren has gone through at your insistence. I think the least you could do is explain yourself.”

Inside, the other one railed against his confinement. God did not permit wanton hatred, and Micah could only turn the other cheek. But _he_ , yes _he_ could deal with this incredulous doctor. Ignoring one last throb of agony, Micah took one more knowing look at his aggressor, then closed his eyes to let go.

\--

Ren had gone still. His eyes closed, his breathing shallowed.

“He’s gone, hasn’t he?” Horo asked.

“It seems so,” Faust replied, moving from his chair to find the pendulum again. Horo watched Ren silently as Faust turned away. He saw a limb twitch. His eyelids quivered.

“Um, Faust?” Horo began. But before he could say any more, Ren was up and out of his chair. He ran and tackled Faust’s back just as the doctor was turning to look. Ren flung his bodyweight as though he had the stature of a strongman, and Faust stumbled aside as though he’d been hit by a speeding truck. Horo got a single glimpse of Ren’s face, severe and enraged, before he began to tear into Faust with furious hands.

Vials and equipment went flying as the two of them scrabbled on the floor. Horo froze, entirely lost in his panic. Faust fought back with gusto, paying no mind to his patient’s fragile frame as he wrenched Ren’s arms aside and managed to push him to the ground. Faust moved with the speed and power of a commando as he grabbed both of Ren’s wrists behind his back, pushing his face into the tiled floor.

“Horokeu, the restraints!”

Horo came back to earth sharply, and followed Faust’s direction to his bag beside him. With fumbling hands, he finally managed to find a set of leather cuffs. As he passed them to Faust, Ren scrabbled and gnashed his teeth, rage burning in his eyes. After a brief struggle, Faust finally clasped the cuffs around Ren’s tiny wrists and yanked him up from the ground. Slamming him down on the bed where Horo had been sat, Faust readied more restraints. But before he could use them, Ren suddenly went limp, as though cut from his power source. Faust did not hesitate, and secured the harsh straps across him anyway.

“Wait, isn’t that a bit much?” Horo asked, as he surveyed the extra bindings. “Whoever that was, it’s gone now.”

“I’m not taking that risk,” Faust said, stepping back to examine his handiwork. “Micah? Are you still here?”

At his call, Ren’s mouth contorted into a judgemental smirk. “But of course.”

“What was that?” Faust demanded, brow still damp with sweat.

“That was Calibre,” Micah sneered from beneath the leather straps that held him. “I think you made him mad.”

As Faust spoke, Horo noticed a glistening of blood on his lower lip, where it had been split. It didn’t seem to trouble him. Any anger he had displayed had long since dissipated. In fact he almost looked concerned as he pulled his chair next to the bed to talk to Micah anew.

“I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot. I apologise,” Faust said, looking genuinely sorry. “You must understand, I had a suspicion that there might be an alter like Calibre lurking in the background. I wanted to assess the danger first. I can see now that you and he are closely linked.”

Micah’s eyes glittered knowingly, as though he had long ago figured out Faust’s plan. “You should be aware: Calibre is broken. He has many defects, deliberately placed there by one who wishes to see Ren fail. It would be wise not to antagonise him again.”

“Has someone been tampering with Ren’s programming?” Faust asked, frowning. “Someone within the Grigori?”

“Yes,” Micah confirmed. “I suppose it made sense to interfere with Calibre first of us all – he is by far the most violent and corruptible.”

Horo was about to speak, but Micah turned to look at him before the words even left his lips. “Before you ask, dear Horokeu, I do not know who is meddling Ren’s programming. But Samjaza is aware of it, I can assure you. Justice will be done.”

“While we’re on the subject of justice,” Faust interrupted, an attempt to draw the alter’s attention back to the matter at hand. “I am seeking such for Ren. I know you hold memories of the Grigori’s abuse, and I need him to see it for himself. There are amnesic barriers between your part of the mind and his, but with your help, we can remove them. Then he can know the truth.”

Micah studied for a long time, looking strangely prohibited underneath the restraints. When he spoke again, his voice was softer than before. “Once again, Dr Faust: I think you misunderstand my function.”

“Could you please explain it to us?”

“I was created as an internal watchman for Samjaza, true. But the fact is, Ren is not strong enough to withstand the torture they put him through. Whether heavenly or not, the tests of the human body that Ren is expected to endure is beyond belief. I feel for him,” Micah’s gaze was fixed right up into the ceiling, and Horo could hear his voice wavering with emotion. “Compassion is not a sin, and I wanted to do something, however small, to ease his suffering. Often, unbeknownst to Samjaza, I take Ren’s place for the worst of his torment. That way, he knows no hurt. Having him believe he is an angel gives purpose to what little I can’t protect him from.”

“And you’re worried about releasing these memories to Ren because of how terrible they are?” Faust’s bedside manner had returned, his voice dropped low to match Micah’s solemn tone.

“You’re a wise man, Dr Faust. Foolhardy, but wise.”

“Micah, I want you to know that we are here to take care of Ren, but also _all_ of you. We do not discount your right to exist. I can see that you care for Ren, perhaps more so than your creator intended, but just know that when you reintegrate with him, your ability to protect him will not be compromised. If anything, it may prove to be an advantage. Ren will be aware of your presence and the knowledge you have, and you can protect him unhindered. And we, from outside, will protect you both.”

Micah laughed softly, a sound like a hive of bees being shaken lightly. “I think only _he_ has been accepted to protect us at the moment,” he said, casting his eyes with heavy focus on to Horo. “You, Doctor… well, you may earn the trust of the others eventually. But for now, you have mine. Release me from these bindings, and we shall discuss our terms.”

\--

Micah’s stipulations were simple: he was to act as an advisor to Faust regarding Ren’s mental recovery, and the two were to talk regularly to ensure Micah was happy with the work Faust was doing. In exchange, Micah would share his memories with Ren, including those less savoury, and allow him to see the truth behind his supposedly angelic existence.

Ren received the information silently, a mental cascade of truths falling into his memory all at once. He paled and clutched defensively at his body as some of the Grigori’s more hideous abuse was revealed to him.

“I’m not… an angel, am I?” Ren asked Horo when he finally found his voice again.

Horo shook his head softly. “No, I don’t think so. But it’s okay, it means you don’t need to do what the Grigori say any more. You know that, don’t you?”

Ren nodded, not meeting his gaze. “They’ve lied to me.”

Faust was writing something down on a piece of paper when he said, “It may take some time for you to accept the new version of your reality, but we are here to make the transition as smooth as possible. At least now you can see how toxic these people have been to you. Here,” he said, handing Horo the paper, ink still wet.

“What’s this?” Horo asked, looking at it quizzically. It was a diagram of some description, with Faust’s complicated handwriting labelling and explaining every facet.

“It’s an Altar of Forgiveness,” Faust said, already standing to let them out of the exam room. “Follow the instructions and construct this at home, for Ren. I will be over tomorrow to inspect your work.”

Horo pocketed the instructions nervously, thanked the doctor and led the trembling Ren out on to the street.

Despite the life-altering news he had received, Ren did not seem crushed or defeated. Though he looked as withdrawn and weak as ever, there was a new purpose in his stride that gave him a look of renewed energy. Whether it was the weight of holy responsibility lifted from his shoulders, or the stirring desire to bring justice to his captors, Horo couldn’t say. But, he decided, it could only be a good thing.


	15. Chapter 15

From then on, Faust visited regularly for Ren’s reintegration work. Sometimes he asked them to visit the clinic, but only if he needed a particular piece of equipment to monitor Ren’s progress. By and large, Faust visited them at Horo’s apartment, as it was fast becoming a safe haven for Ren that he sometimes had difficulty leaving. Ren was more familiar with his environment there, more relaxed and able to focus on the sometimes emotionally difficult exercises that Faust had him perform. Not to mention the fact that something about the white, sterile environment of the clinic was enough to put certain alters into a frenzy.

Faust’s instructions for the ‘Altar of Forgiveness’ led Horo to decorate a small wooden table with a sheet and white candles in the corner of the living room. According Faust’s scribbles, Ren would be using this throughout his treatment. From Horo’s limited perspective, it seemed to be a place upon which Ren would put a small memento of someone he needed to forgive, usually someone who was responsible for some atrocity in his childhood. These people and their crimes were uncovered during the course of Faust’s exercises. Apparently the act of letting go was part of his recovery. The only thing Horo knew for sure was that he had been told on no uncertain terms that the altar was to be touched by no one but Ren.

The first effigy to appear on the altar was a small plush keyring that Pirika had left lying around. It was a dirty, worn thing that once upon a time might have been a rabbit. Horo had witnessed an alter of Ren’s – the child-like Thomas that he had met previously – adopt the keyring, running it through his shaking hands and tugging softly at its bedraggled ears as he spoke. He told dreadful stories of Ren’s past in a confident but infantile voice, making the horror he was describing seem all the more wretched. The child felt guilty that he had not protected Ren from his early abuse, and cried silent tears as he relived the occasion where he was made to run naked through a forest, hiding from men with rifles.

After Faust had worked through the incident with Thomas - a process that took a careful couple of hours. Ren returned to them, and Faust explained that the child needed to be forgiven for the things he had been forced to do, and for being too weak to protect both of them. Ren understood almost immediately and, without instruction, crouched down next to his altar and placed the sorrowful old rabbit between some of the candles. In this fashion, the altar slowly but surely began to fill. Not with (as Horo had anticipated) mementos of his abusers, but with symbols of his own frightened and guilty alters.

Another alter had been the embodiment of Ren’s present self that Faust described as ‘destructive’ and had tried to derail the process altogether. He pretended at first that he was as frightened and tormented as the others, and he had Horo completely fooled – he hadn’t even realised that the alters were able to lie. Faust however, was not so easily tricked. He pushed the alter for information that he knew would prove to be false, then tripped him up on a simple misspoken word. The alter then became his true self, threatening to harm the body he was inhabiting, stating that it deserved to punished. It had been a struggle to keep the rogue alter restrained, but once Faust had managed to bind his hands, he became more compliant.

He vented and spat and tore at his bindings until he eventually began to tell the tale of how he was periodically beaten and raped by men that his father invited into the house. The frustration and resentment was the only thing that kept him fighting for breath while the men choked and whipped him. Like Micah, he took the ordeal in Ren’s place each time it occurred, as he knew Ren would never be able to stand the torture. When Faust eventually managed to convince the alter that the men had long since been gone from Ren’s life, he continued on to thank him for protecting Ren from the pain, and explained that Ren was now ready to embrace the memories that he had held on to for so long. When thealter withdrew, Ren miraculously could recall the entire conversation – unprecedented in his treatment thus far. He was conscious of the alter’s presence now, and placed the piece of cord that had bound his hands on the altar as a sign of thanks, and forgiveness at the alter’s wish to harm him.

The work that they had done was exhausting for everyone involved and Faust regularly gave them time off. It just so happened, and luckily so, that the trip to _Faith_ for Yoh’s birthday fell on one of those quiet days. Horo had spent the day mentally preparing himself for the visit. He had not touched a drop of alcohol since the night that Ryu had invaded their home, and he did not intend to go back on his promise to himself: no more drinking while he had Ren to take care of. But he had given his word to Yoh that he would be there, and Horo had his integrity as a friend to uphold. And so, despite the awful feeling of worry in his stomach, they headed out to the nightclub.

When Horo had successfully navigated his way to the old refurbished church in the upmarket nightclub district – a much harder task with Ren in tow, eager to get distracted by any loud and unfamiliar noise around – Yoh was at the door to greet them with his lop-sided grin.

“Horo! Ren! Glad to see you guys,” Yoh enunciated perfectly, though the sheen of the drugs he had already taken was clear in his eyes. He already had a girl on his arm, a giggling blonde who eyed her surroundings blindly, dancing excitably from foot to foot. “Stoked you could make it.”

“Like you’d have forgiven me if I didn’t,” Horo grimaced at the truth of the matter.

Yoh slapped him on the shoulder, laughing musically. “Come on, grab a drink and head on up to the balcony. I’ve got the whoooole thing reserved, man. We can see everything, like gods of the party.” He leaned closer and whispered in Horo’s ear, “Plus, it’s a regular pussy factory up there. Chicks dig VIPs. We’re both getting laid tonight!”

The girl on Yoh’s arm giggled breathlessly, obviously privy to the conversation. Horo gave them both a nervous smile and a wave as Yoh disappeared into the teeming crowd.

Instinctively, Horo grabbed Ren’s wrist before pulling him through the mass of sweaty, heaving bodies and towards the bar. The music made his spine throb, and he remembered why he didn’t drink in places like this. He turned to say something to Ren, but realised the futility of it over the fulminating music. He caught the glances of a few wide-eyed women at the bar, and he dropped Ren’s wrist in a fluster, cheeks burning. The bartender eyed him even more oddly when he gestured for a tonic water and then tried to demonstrate through actions alone his need for watered-down milk – the staple of Ren’s recovering diet. He gave in eventually, and pushed a glass of luke-warm tap water into Ren’s hand instead. Ren sipped it tenaciously, and made no comment about the dirty glass. Horo hoisted himself into one of the high barstools and pressed his head into his hands with the embarrassment of it all.

\--

Flashing, moving colours. People everywhere, laughing, drinking.

He knew what to do.

Ren took a sip of his drink, observing the crowd over the rim of his glass. Without so much as a sideways glance at Horo, he slipped expertly into the crowd. Bodies touched him from all sides, but he didn’t feel threatened. This was his territory, he was in control of the situation. He’d picked his target out already. Affecting a sly smile, he slinked deftly through the dancing bodies, a smile here, a nod there, balancing his drink in his fingertips with ease.

He reached a group of three men, twenty-three, twenty-five and twenty-six, he knew. Twenty-five and twenty-six were a couple. That left Twenty-Three. Ren sidled up to him, fluidly joining the group, moving his body in time to theirs. It didn’t take long to catch Twenty-Three’s eye, and the stranger matched Ren’s rhythm almost instantly. The couple smiled to each other, out of eyeshot of their friend, and moved away to give them room. Ren knew Twenty-Three wouldn’t notice – he already had him transfixed.

\--

Horo glanced up, his eyes adjusting painfully to the neon lights framing the edge of the bar. The pressure he’d placed on his eyelids made shapes dance in front of him. A large circle remained unmoving to his right. He looked through it quizzically until the shape padded out into the face of a woman, whose eyes he was now staring right into.

The bottom fell out of his stomach as he realised she was staring back at him, and looking down into the bubbling surface of his drink, he began to rehearse his excuses. He was about to leave the country for ten years? He was married? He was a serial killer on the run from the police?

“That’s not what I’d call a man’s drink,” the woman said chidingly, raising her voice above the music. “Can I get you something stronger?”

 _Married. Go with married._ “No thanks, I’m –“

“Kanna, a whisky here.” The woman’s voice was commanding. She turned to him as an afterthought. “You _are_ a whisky drinker right? You seem like you should be.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She smiled at his indignation. “Relax, I just mean you look like a guy who could use a stiff drink.” She placed some coins in the bartender’s hand as the drink was slid to her across the bar. She nudged the glittering amber towards Horo with a single fingertip. “On the rocks, right?”

“Uh, yeah… thanks.” He cradled it between his hands, staring fixedly into the ice cubes. His favourite drink.

“Don’t worry so much,” the woman said, tossing her golden hair out of her face. “I’m not trying to fuck you. I’m just looking for some decent conversation after a crappy night at work. You okay with that?”

The dominant attitude of this woman made Horo think it didn’t matter whether it was okay with him or not. He’d been designated as her choice of company, and he was expected to put on a good show for her amusement.

“I think I’ve seen you somewhere before,” she said, stirring her drink thoughtfully. She clicked her fingers as it came to her. “The library a few days ago. You were there.”

The rude woman who snapped at Manta. “Oh… yeah. I think I remember.” He didn’t want to tell her what his impression of her had been that day. He glanced down at her name-tag instead. “You work here… Hannah?”

“Anna,” she corrected, sipping her drink through a black plastic straw. “And yeah, for my sins.”

“Huh. I’m surprised you’d want to stay here if your shift’s finished. I’m supposed to be here having fun, and even I’d rather be at home.”

“I know, the place is a dump. But this is where I usually meet all the interesting people. The people out there,” she stabbed towards the milling crowd with a delicate thumb. “They’re the idiots who actually get enjoyment out of this shithole. They’re out there, strutting and pouting, trying anything just to find some company for their beds. Their nights are effectively ruined if they don’t get some action from at least one drunk idiot. They’re a separate breed, the bottom of the evolutionary scale. This is one big mating dance and all of the participants are severely emotionally challenged. No… here, sitting idly at the bar, drinking away their troubles, _this_ is where the real people are found. We sit at the ringside and watch as the monkeys fling shit at each other and lament what society’s been reduced to. The deep-thinkers won’t be drawn in by any of this.”

“Deep thinkers? I can’t remember the last time I thought deeply about the atmosphere in a nightclub.” Horo pressed the cold rim of his glass to his parched lips and took a thoughtful sip. The warmth that caressed his tongue and oozed blissfully down his throat was a blessing. He tried to put the glass down, moderate himself, but his tongue searched out for more. He thought for only a second before tipping the glass back swiftly and letting the cold warmth of the delicious ambrosia trickle down his throat. The glass hit the counter with a soft clink. “To tell the truth, I’m just as desperate as the rest of them. I just don’t have the balls to do anything about it. _That’s_ why I’m sat here.”

Anna watched him down the glass with something akin to approval, and, without taking her eyes off him, gestured to the bartender for a refill. Pushing the new glass into Horo’s hand, she said, “Tell me about why you’re here tonight.”

\--

Twenty-Three was really something. He’d taken some persuasion, but he’d eventually started to let go. And all it took from Ren was the brushing of a hand against skin, the odd meaningful smile, and an unrelenting gaze. With every change of the song, he altered his pace, stepped forward again. Now they were moving a handbreadth apart. The tips of fingers and the edges of clothes caught one another innocently. Every time Twenty-Three danced downwards, his thigh brushed the inside of Ren’s leg tantalisingly. Ren watched the initial discovery of this pass as a shiver of excitement on the young man’s face, then noticed that contact was made a few more times, far more deliberately now.

Placing a hand on Twenty-Three’s chest, Ren leaned in to him gently. Speaking as softly as the music would allow, he pushed his lips against his target’s ear and said, “Elijah. Call me Eli.”

He felt the man tremble against him, spellbound by the tone in Ren’s voice. He felt a gasping breath by his own ear that stammered out, “A-Adam.”

He smiled secretly. He knew the name wasn’t fake.

Ren – Elijah – found Adam’s wrist and grasped it hard. Adam’s breath fluttered, still so close to his ear. One more surreptitious step and their bodies met. Elijah placed Adam’s hand on the gentle curve of his back, and began to grind purposefully against him. Feeling Adam’s heartbeat increase urgently, Elijah glanced subtly over Adam’s shoulder to see his two friends talking quietly to each other and move away, a knowing smile on their faces. Elijah smiled too, and pressed his parted lips against the skin of Adam’s neck.

\--

“So if your friend has the balcony hired out, why are you down here with us mere mortals?”

“He described the atmosphere using the words ‘pussy factory’… I’m really not sure that’s my kind of scene,” Horo laughed, pushing away his third empty whisky glass. This time, Horo didn’t even see Anna ask for a refill, much less hear her. And yet, a fresh whisky on the rocks appeared in front of him as though he’d wished it from a genie. He drank it gratefully.

“Ah, because you’re-“ Anna broke off, smiling to herself as though she knew a secret. “Who did you come here with? I saw you arrive with a small guy, purple hair.”

“Oh, that’s Ren. He’s-“ Horo stopped, reactions dulled by the liquor. He looked about him. Ren had gone. “Shit.”

He swung awkwardly from his barstool and strained his eyes against the bright lights to scan the interior of the church. Anna mimicked his movements far more sharply – her first drink still half-full on the bar-top.

“He can’t have gone far. There’s a lot of people, but the space is small. I’ll help you look.”

“No, no – you don’t understand. He doesn’t get… he doesn’t know…” Horo slurred. “Ugh, it’s too hard to explain, I just need to find him.”

He pushed away from the bar and stumbled, surrendering himself to the crowd. Anna shouldered her way in after him, only partly concerned for his well-being.

\--

Elijah pressed Adam into the bare stone wall, their lips locked together greedily. Just above them, a grand stained glass window shone brilliantly into the defiled space – once the treasure of this little church, now covered in bars to stop drunken daredevils trying to destroy it. It depicted the Garden of Eden, the tricky serpent rearing up before its gates, green eyes hinting knowingly at the forbidden apple. Elijah smiled into Adam’s kiss, amused at the relevance.

Elijah ran his hands over the length of Adam’s body, stopped above the waistband of his jeans where he could already feel the throbbing of his desire pressed square against his own. He worked swiftly, accurately, touching and kissing in the places that he knew would make Adam tremble. His hands found skin, foraging determinedly under his shirt. Elijah took hold, sinking his nails firmly into his flesh.

“Eli…” Adam moaned, shaking with his neediness. “I’ve never, I mean… oh god, I’m still-“

“I know,” Elijah said, free hand wandering through Adam’s dark hair. “I’m here to show you.”

The button on Adam’s jeans finally came loose, and as Elijah’s hand reached the skin beneath, a weight slammed into his back and he fell against Adam, winding him. Elijah turned with thunder in his face to confront the drunken louts who were now jeering and cheering, the inebriated friend they’d pushed into Elijah’s back now stumbling up from the ground apologetically. Elijah saw red as he fixed his eyes on the group. They saw his intent and squared up for the fight. How dare they interrupt…

Green eyes, green hair. Right behind the thugs.

Panic. Panic. Panic.

Ren stumbled backwards in shock. The calculated look fell from his face. _Suriel was here. Why?_

Lyserg stared back with realisation, the spotlights passing over his face as he surged forward, pushing through the crowd that separated them.

Ren let out an involuntary yelp, tripping over Adam’s feet to get away.

“Eli, wait!” Adam called. But it was useless – Elijah was no more.

_Horo. Must find Horo. Protection. Safe._

Ren’s only option was to push back into another crowd, with people on every side that had turned momentarily to see the fight they had hoped was about to ensue. Some of these people heckled and shoved Ren as he squeezed by them, chiding him for running away. They grabbed at him and he shook them off weakly, tucking his tiny limbs to his sides and darting between them like they were nothing but air. Adam tried to follow, but the anticipation of the fight had reached its peak, and someone outside of the initial conflict placed a punch square in the side of Adam’s face. The crowd converged on him.

Lyserg was swept along by the commotion, trying desperately to grab a shoulder or an arm he could use to push away from, to propel himself in Ren’s direction. His eyes moved quickly, taking in his surroundings with vigilance. He tried to keep his eyes on the back of Ren’s head, but he ducked above and below the people as though they weren’t there. It was hard to keep focus, and the ever shifting lights did nothing to help. He set his jaw and turned up the aggression, shoving those aside who wouldn’t move with a preliminary nudge.

Ren only risked glancing back once or twice, assessing Suriel’s position and then darting the other way. He was getting close, and Ren had hit a wall of people who barely seemed to notice him. He realised he had reached the place where he had left Horo to begin with. He jerked his head round, eyes fixed for blue, but all he could see was green, getting ever closer. Suriel seemed to be in all places at once, dominating his vision, hovering everywhere Ren could and couldn’t see. He was behind him, in front of him, at the other side of the room, and suddenly, he grabbed him.

“Ren! It’s okay, I’m here!”

Ren sank helplessly into the figure clutching at him, chest heaving, legs unable to support him any longer. At least Suriel had never hurt him. He could be glad of that. Better him than…

“Ren? Can you hear me?”

He dared to open his eyes. He saw blue. “Horo!” He breathed heavily, ignoring the new red girl that was watching with interest from Horo’s side. “Can we… go? Please, let’s go! Quickly!”

Horo was taken aback by the desperation in Ren’s voice, and hesitated for a moment, his ability to reason dulled. “What’s the matter? Has something happened?”

“Grigori! Here! Please, let’s go!” Ren gave one last urgent pull and Horo finally understood. Clutching Ren close, he drove his way towards the exit, without so much as a backward glance at Anna. Using his broad shoulders as a battering ram, he fought his way back to the entrance with Ren against his chest, whimpering like a frightened child. Horo decided to ignore the smell of unfamiliar cologne lingering around him.


	16. Chapter 16

“Tell me, Suriel. What did you discover?”

Lyserg was on his knees before Samjaza in the Sanctuary. The leader was sat on the edge of the raised altar, waiting to hear his story. The other Grigori were there, gathered tightly in the pews, ears perked. Marco stood at his side.

“Samjaza, I saw Ren.”

Lyserg’s voice sounded small in the quiet of the Sanctuary. He sounded nothing like when Samjaza spoke, the volume he reached, the way he commanded the room. The congregation murmured behind him about this revelation.

Samjaza did not seem surprised. “Where did you see him?”

“In _Faith_ , where I was instructed to wait.”

“I see. Did you address him?”

“I tried, but he left before I could reach him. I think he recognised me and ran. I’m so sorry, Samjaza. I failed you.”

Samjaza rested a gentle hand upon his head. “You are forgiven, Suriel. Now tell me…” he pushed on. “Was he alone?”

Lyserg shook his head, heart gladdened by his leader’s touch. “He was with a man. He had blue hair.”

The crowd murmured again.

“Did you find out who he was?” Marco demanded impatiently.

Samjaza raised a hand to silence him. “Peace, brother. Allow the boy to speak.”

Lyserg’s heart sang with gratitude to Samjaza. He said his next piece with pride. “He was there with a friend. I saw them talking. After Ren and the stranger left, I approached him. He was, umm… quite inebriated.” Lyserg reddened at the memory of the man called Yoh, a drink in each hand and a woman on each arm, no drop of sobriety – or dignity – left. “I pretended to be an old acquaintance and asked him who the blue-haired man was. I pretended to be an acquaintance who had forgotten his name. He told me the man’s name was Usui Horokeu.”

The crowd murmured again. The name meant nothing to them.

Samjaza settled back. “Very good, my friend. This is very valuable information.”

“That’s not all!” Lyserg said, a little louder than he meant to. He lowered his head in embarrassment before continuing, trying to hide the blood rushing to his cheeks. “Um… I-I found out something else. He has a sister.”

Samjaza leaned forward again, obviously intrigued. Lyserg took his cue to continue.

“Her name is Pirika. She’s a, um… a whore.”

Marco crossed himself. Lyserg heard the crowd shifting as several others did the same.

“Then she is the key,” Samjaza said, barely loud enough for Lyserg to hear. He held up his hand to silence the crowd, and closed his eyes dramatically as he rose to his feet, arms lifted high to heaven. They all knew this routine and they held their breath anxiously. When he spoke again, it was with a holy authority. “The Lord has spoken to me. Suriel, I know what must be done. It is God’s will. But I need you to trust me, and Him, in his wisdom.”

“Of course I do, Samjaza,” Lyserg said emphatically, bowing his head lower.

Samjaza stood then, holding his arms out to the captive audience. “Our brother Suriel has been entrusted with a task. As his family, we are to support him fully, and pray for his every success. This is for Ren’s protection, and the protection of the Grigori. Ren is scared, alone. Possibly even a captive of this man called Usui Horokeu. He is a devil on this earth. He is dangerous and oblivious to his sin. If we were to approach him directly, one or both of them could bolt. These circumstances dictate our course of action. Suriel must get close to Ren and his situation so he can discover how best to recover him from the devil’s clutches. He must do this without alerting anybody to his presence. Perhaps he can guide Ren home to us without intervention on our part at all.” Samjaza smiled down upon him. “Do you think you can do this, brother?”

“It would be my honour!” Lyserg swelled with pride, his mind not yet beginning to wonder exactly what this task would involve. Whatever it was, he would do it, for Samjaza.

Marco cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should lead a prayer, for Ren’s safe return?”

Lyserg saw a flash of a look pass between Samjaza and Marco. Marco looked cunning, Samjaza seemed displeased. It was gone from both of their faces in an instant.

“Yes, brother Arakiel. Allow me,” he said, affecting again his crowd-winning smile. The congregation clasped their hands and prayed. Lyserg joined in, but he barely heard a word, nervous butterflies cartwheeling in his stomach.


	17. Chapter 17

Horo was nursing the mother of all headaches when he heard a knock on the door the next morning. He had spent the last few hours with his head in the toilet bowl, the first rebellion from his whisky-saturated stomach, arriving without herald in the early hours of the morning. Ren had watched him stumble from the sofa-bed, wide-eyed and followed him into the bathroom, standing in the doorway to watch Horo spew. Despite the almost criticising innocence in Ren’s eyes, Horo was past the point of shame.

Ren had been so rattled from his time at the nightclub the previous night, he hadn’t slept. He would not settle, alternating between pacing up and down the apartment, occasionally sobbing and wailing, and then squatting down in a tiny heap and cowering in a corner. Horo had been close to the point of yelling at him and turning him out on the street so he could get some sleep himself – alcohol only demanded one thing from him, and that was rest. Out of sheer desperation, he had turned on the TV in the hope that he could find some old rerun to bore Ren to sleep. However, during his futile search for the remote, the screen crackling with static, something marvellous happened.

Ren had looked up from his tiny ball on the floor, where he was wedged with his back squarely against the sofa, and hushed. Horo had stood, dumb-founded by the lack of incoherent babble and whimpers, to find Ren transfixed at the black and white flickers dancing on the screen. _The zebra in the snowstorm_ , as his mother used to call it. Horo’s attempt to change the channel had not been met well, and in the end, he had given up and gone to sleep on the sofa, leaving Ren to watch the static in silence.

He remained this way for hours, and was still there when Horo awoke, the irregular brightness from the TV stinging his tired eyes. Even when the knock at the door came, Ren did not stir, or even acknowledge the sound. Horo gave him a thoughtful look and dragged himself from the sofa towards the door. He didn’t have the energy to worry about who it might be, and so when he opened the door, he was completely unprepared for who was standing there.

Her features swam in front of his eyes, his sluggish mind trawling back through his whiskey-dazed memories of last night.

“A-Anna?”

“You look terrible.”

He stammered over a few words, not knowing which of his many questions he wanted to ask first.

Anna didn’t wait for any courtesy. She took an assertive step towards him, forcing him to move out of the way dumbly and allow her to walk inside. She swung her satchel bag from over her shoulder, throwing it on to the beaten carpet as she turned up her nose and said, with a sneer, “Nice place.”

Horo cringed at her tone, shutting the door gently behind him. “Listen, Anna… I think you misunderstood me last night, I’m not looking-“

The way she turned around so sharply to look at him almost sent him stumbling. “Don’t flatter yourself, _Horokeu_. Besides, I know your story. I’m here for something else.”

“I don’t remember telling you my name.”

“You didn’t. Your friend did.”

“Huh?”

“The guy from the VIP area. Yoh, was it? He’s a got a loose tongue – you ought to watch him. Only took me to ask about his blue-haired friend when he came to settle his tab and within five minutes, I had your name and your building. He couldn’t tell me which number, but the names on the buzzers helped me with that. Is this the living room?”

Without waiting for a response, Anna headed further in. Horo remained where he was for a moment, churning the information, and making a mental note to have a serious word with Yoh next time he saw him.

“So you must be Ren?” Anna declared as she caught sight of the young man hunched over by the TV.

Ren risked a hesitant glance at Anna’s face when he heard his name. Obviously deeming her a non-threat, he turned back to the screen.

“Got any coffee?” Anna fired in Horo’s direction, sitting precariously on the edge of the sofa, peeling back the sheet Horo had been using as a blanket with a disgusted look on her face.

Horo composed himself while he made the drinks. He poured himself one, the smell alone bringing back his senses. The milk had gone off, so he resorted to an emergency box of powdered milk he kept in the cupboard. Placing the mug in Anna’s hands, he finally asked, “Why are you here?”

“I guess you don’t get a lot of visitors,” Anna fixed her dark eyes on him, suddenly quite business-like. “I want to know what you ran away from last night.”

“With all due respect Anna, I hardly see how that’s any of your-“

“I’m a journalist,” she said, as though that in itself explained everything. “I’m investigating my boss.” She inclined her head towards the TV. “What’s he watching?”

Horo took a seat on the far side of the sofa, studying the screen with newly focused eyes. “Static.”

“No shit.”

“Sometimes, I think I can see shapes in there, like it’s trying to pick up a signal. But then it all melds together again and it just looks like thousands of tiny maggots trying to escape.”

“From this building? I wouldn’t blame them.”

He shot her a sideways look, suddenly feeling oddly defensive about his hovel of a home. She looked like she wanted to apologise for a moment, but didn’t.

“He seems to like it,” was what she said instead.

“Yeah, he’s been watching it for hours now. It’s the only thing that would settle him after…” he trailed off, deciding to tackle this in a new way. “So when you say your boss, you mean the bar manager?”

Anna scoffed. “Well they’re all shady enough to warrant it, but no. I’m thinking the boss of my bosses. I have bigger concerns here.”

Horo cast his mind back to all of the newspaper articles, magazines, TV spots he had been seeing over the last few months. He knew the name of the man that owned _Faith_. Everybody did. “You mean Hao? Hao Asakura? THE Hao?”

Anna nodded, assertively.

Despite himself, he choked on laughter. “You mean the Golden Boy of the business world? The fashion icon? Contender for the world’s richest man? A national treasure?”

“That’s right. And no one gets that big without a few skeletons in their closet. And as it happens, I know that Hao has one big, rotting cadaver he’s trying to keep hidden.”

“How can you be so sure of that?”

“I’m not about to reveal my sources, Horokeu.”

“Just Horo. And you have sources for this?”

For the first time, he thought he saw her façade fall before she composed herself and began again. “Well actually, you’d be my first.”

“So all this is based on suspicion?”

The glare she shot him was icy. “Listen. It’s my ambition to become a journalist. Top-ranking. Every story a huge seller. Would I really start off my career on the back of a suspicion I couldn’t prove was genuine?”

“So you’ve not been published yet?”

Anna busied herself with smoothing out the edges of her plaid skirt, icy shield quickly dropping. “I just haven’t written the right article yet. I’ve been turned down for most of my articles. But not this one. This is different.”

Anna disappeared and retrieved her bag from the floor. Placing her mug precariously on the flat arm of the sofa, she undid the clasps and rummaged through its contents.

Horo could see wads of paper and notebooks, with different coloured post-its decorating every page. And then he saw the wallet she pulled out from a pocket at the front of her bag. It was unassuming, leather-bound, but she held it as though it were the crown jewels. When she flipped it open, he saw immediately that it was no wallet. Though what it actually was, he couldn’t say. It was a shape, set in relief on a metal disc embedded into one side of the leather cover. It began with a circle, with smaller concentric circles inside it. There was a single line through all of them, dividing them into smaller segments, each coloured in alternate shades of the metal.

Horo peered at it unsurely. “What is that?”

“I found it in Hao’s office. He keeps an office for his personal use in every branch of _Faith_ , though he rarely uses them. The one in our town is the flagship venue, the biggest club in the country. He comes there to party in his own VIP area, but never to work. I snuck in there while he was ‘preoccupied’ one night, and-“

“You snuck in?” Horo exclaimed. “Are you crazy? Have you seen how much that guy sues people for?”

“Money’s hardly my biggest concern.”

“But I mean, for what? For this? What even is it?”

“It’s a symbol,” said Anna flatly.

“But what does it mean?”

“Ugh, I don’t know, alright?” Anna snapped, tossing the wallet on to the floor at her feet. The leather flap flipped open and left the symbol staring out hypnotically into the room. “But something’s going on around Hao, and I need to find out what. This is the only solid lead I have.”  
  
“And that’s why you came to me?” Horo said slowly, twisting the mug of coffee in his hands.

“Yes. Something spooked you guys last night and I want to know what it was. It can’t be a coincidence that it happened at Hao’s club.”

Horo sighed heavily. “I’m sorry to break this to you, but what we ran from is nothing to do with Hao. I think you might be drawing connections where there are none. I can tell how much you want to nail this guy, but I honestly don’t think we’re the people you need to do that.”

Anna crossed her arms over her legs and stared glumly ahead, her coolness well and truly smashed. When she next spoke, it was barely a grumble. “Can we turn this off? It’s giving me a migraine.”

Horo hesitated, looking between Ren and Anna and trying to assess whose wrath he’d rather avoid. Unfortunately for Ren, Anna won out.

“Sorry Ren, let’s take a rest for a while,” Horo said, pressing the standby button on the remote. To his surprise, Ren didn’t move or complain. He just sat there quietly, almost contemplatively.

“Will you tell me what it was? For my own peace of mind?” Anna asked.

“It’s not going to mean much to you, but it was a guy we were running from. Just someone we didn’t expect to see there that freaked Ren out a bit,” Horo conceded, seeing no harm in sparing her the basics.

As he spoke, he watched Anna fish out a small black notebook from her bag and jot down a few key points. “What’s the guy’s name?” she asked, some of her vigour restored. Horo thought she did look right sat there, with her pen in hand. She brushed her hair back behind her ears with determination, and her dark eyes shone as she scribbled. It didn’t seem ridiculous for him to believe that she would one day achieve her goal. She was the kind of girl who always got what she wanted.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you his name,“ Horo admitted, setting his mug on the floor.

“And why not?” Anna pushed.

“Because I don’t know it. He’s someone that Ren knows, not me. And don’t think about asking Ren his name, because he won’t be able to-“

“Suriel.”

Ren stood up confidently, and repeated himself for the obviously shocked Horo. “Suriel.”

“That’s his name?” Anna questioned, trying out variations of the spelling on her paper.

Ren nodded resolutely, then disappeared off into the kitchen. Horo heard a tap running and a glass clinking. At least he’d worked out how to do that much for himself now.

“What does he look like, this Suriel?” Anna didn’t take her eyes off the page.

“I only got a glimpse,” Horo said. “Green hair, green eyes, I think. It may have just been the lights.”

“Green. Lots of green.” Ren reappeared, corroborating Horo’s statement with a nod. He stepped carefully, bare-footed, across the carpet, concentrating far too much on carrying his glass of water.

“Where do you know him from, Ren?” Anna’s pen never stopped.

“He was… he was in… I think-“ Ren’s contemplation cut off abruptly. The glass fell from his hands and bounced across the floor, splashing both Anna and Horo’s legs with its contents. Ren had stopped, mid-motion, in the middle of the living room. His hand had stopped gripping, his mouth had stopped moving, and his eyes were blank. Like someone had frozen him in time.

Horo moved cautiously as he pushed himself slowly from the sofa, eyeing Ren carefully. “Ren? Hey, are you okay?”

Anna’s face was finally turned up from her notebook, watching Ren with curiosity.

Horo put a gentle hand on Ren’s shoulder, bracing himself for a smack to the jaw. None came. He risked a shake. Ren was motionless, eyes cast downward.

Horo looked at Anna apologetically. “I’m sorry, he does things like this. He’s not well, I think you should probably-“

“Look,” Anna pointed. The leather-encased symbol was still shining upwards on the floor. Anna leant forward in her seat and traced with her finger the invisible line of Ren’s gaze on to the metal of the disc.

Horo frowned, checked for himself. Yes, Ren was definitely fixed on something. He wasn’t gazing off into the distance as he usually did – he was looking directly at the symbol.

“What happens if you move it away?” Horo breathed, tightening his grip on Ren’s shoulder – support for them both.

Anna looked at him curiously and stooped to catch the wallet between her fingers. Slowly, she folded the cover over the disc and snapped the catch shut.

Ren came to life almost immediately, as though nothing had happened. He looked at his fallen glass of water with sadness. “Clumsy,” he simply said, before picking it up and taking it back to the kitchen.

Anna gave Horo a long look. “Seems like we’ve got more to talk about than you think.”


	18. Chapter 18

His father had always warned him about places like these. Even more so, _people_ like these. And yet here he stood, in a seedy alley in the absolute backwaters of the city, palms sweating as his contact for this arrangement walked away. The man was a despicable sort, all desire but no drive. He made Lyserg uncomfortable with all his talk of money and business, and the way he chattered so nonchalantly about the 'goods' he was selling. He even offered some 'optional extras' which did nothing but make Lyserg’s stomach churn and his lips stutter disgusted declinations. He was the kind of person Lyserg couldn't stand. This made his need to rely on this Ryu character all the harder to bear. But it was for the good of Samjaza, so he must learn to turn his cheek, he told himself. He scowled after Ryu's back anyway, just to be sure.

As he had placed the money into Ryu’s desperate palms, the crook had eyed him with suspicion. After all, Lyserg didn't imagine he had many dealings with men in tailored suits. The thought of dressing for the occasion hadn't occurred to him until much too late. Ryu had looked him up and down in distaste, and gave a subtle hand signal to his unsavoury companions. Even though they had judged Lyserg too small in stature and too timid in nature to pose them any threat, the heavy-set men remained a few paces behind Ryu at all times. Lyserg had spoken little and solemnly at best. He responded to the alias Samjaza had given him, and expressed his intentions with carefully-hidden disgust. Without Marco coaching him for this, he surely would not have pulled through as he did.

He sighed heavily – an exhalation of both his exhaustion at the situation and relief at the departure of Ryu and the morally-inept lackeys that accompanied him. The next stage of his task seemed simple: wait.

The chill autumn air swiped bitterly at him, making the sweat on his brow burn like icicles on his skin. The lonely lamp-post under which he stood seemed more threatening than welcoming – the only beam of light in the dark, dark backstreet. It picked him out in the blackness, rendering him more obviously out of place than he already felt. The threat of the empty night around him was imposing, darkness pushing in on him from all sides. He jammed his hand firmly in his pocket and grasped at the prayer beads he kept hidden there. Stroking their lacquered surface brought a certain comfort to his heart, and he shrank back to the very edge of the circle of light that surrounded him.

He stayed this way for some time, watching the minutes on his watch tick by worryingly. It was already ten minutes past their proposed meeting time. When she finally appeared, she was nothing more than a brief shadow in the alley beyond, a passing vision in the corner of his eye that made his heart falter. He stared at the blank darkness where he had caught the movement, eyes stinging from the want to blink. The night around him felt oppressive, lifeless, and his body ached with the need to escape. When he saw the figure again, he saw it in full herald. Suddenly, everything illuminated.

The girl was tottering unsteadily in his direction, gasping desperately for breath and clutching tightly at her side. His instinct was not misplaced as he darted forward and put out his hands towards her. Not a moment sooner she stumbled over herself, hands grasping out for support, and her fingers slipped welcomingly into his. She travelled a few more uneven steps and Lyserg strengthened his arms to support her weight. She stood before him, head bowed and panting with gusto, azure hair falling messily about her in tangles and knots. He watched for a moment, transfixed, only realising he was staring when those deep blue oceans she had for eyes looked up and met him dead on. He panicked and yanked his hands free, slamming them stiffly into his pockets. The beads in his fingers rattled protectively, and he found the strength to speak.

“Are you okay?”

The girl nodded rapidly, wiping a delicate wrist across her forehead. Suddenly he was very aware of how he looked.

“I ran...” she wheezed. “I ran all the way...”

“Do you need to sit down?” he asked, unsurely. Her bare legs were trembling unsteadily beneath her.

Brushing back the fountain of hair from in front of her face, she thought only for a second before nodding again, a thankful glimmer in her eyes. As she started to kneel, Lyserg caught her arm with panic. “Wait!”

He ignored her startled glance and began tugging his arms from his suit jacket. The silk lining slipped deftly from around him, and he grasped the tailored shoulders in his hands before placing it over the broken glass and cigarette ends that littered the floor.

Frozen in her half-crouched position, she stared at him open-mouthed as he gestured for her to carry on. She managed only a brief smile before her legs gave her no other option and sent her falling to the ground beneath her. Lyserg found himself surprisingly detached from the expensive jacket upon which she landed.

He rested his knees precariously on a fly-away sleeve and knelt down beside her. His eyes fell upon the porcelain hue of her skin, those slender legs framed either side by black patent boots and a tiny pink denim skirt. Her fragile arms rested gently across her bare stomach, the bruises and pockmarks that littered them did not mar her beauty. The lace corset she wore drew his eyes dangerously across the blank canvas beneath the angles of her collar bone, to the gentle swell that became her chest. The black lace that gathered there forced him to tear his eyes away, cheeks flushed. He stared hard at the ground until she found the strength to speak again.

“Oh wait,” she breathed, calmer now. “You are who I think you are, aren't you?”

“That's right. I'm Isaiah.”

“Phew... that's good,” she leant her head back against the wall, sighing with apparent relief. “I was worried I was gonna have be _really_ late. They ain't usually too keen on that.”

He detected a rural tone to her accent that was so unusual in the city, especially this far down-town. It gave her a reticent innocence that he couldn't deny. “They?”

“You know, my um... 'clients'. Guys like you.”

Lyserg nearly cried out in protest at the generalisation, but caught himself short of just stammering instead.

“Oh!” She looked shocked at her own statement. “No, I mean... you're nothin’ like the other guys. There's no way I'd be sittin' here like this if you were. I just meant, you know-”

“I know,” Lyserg nodded, desperate to save her the embarrassment. He realised how he must look to her; a sleazy guy in a suit, willing to offer up any amount of money just to get his sinful hands on the flesh of a woman. He couldn't really argue with her. It was the role he was to play, after all. “You haven't told me your name.”

“My name?” Her dainty eyebrows raised into perfect arcs at the idea of such a thing. “My name is – well, my name's Pirika. That's my real name too. I sort of... I dunno, I feel like I can trust you.” She smiled at him hesitantly, as though she wasn't quite sure she hadn't over-stepped the mark.

He couldn't help but smile back. “Pirika... it's pretty.”

She scoffed. “Nah, don't be silly. I think it makes me sound like, frumpy. You know?”

He really didn't, but he nodded politely anyway. “My name's not Isaiah.”

“I didn't think so,” she giggled.

He drew back, hurt. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Oh no! I just meant...” she grinned at him sweetly. “Isaiah sort of sounds like you should be a wizard or somethin’. You know, carry a big stick, with a cauldron, and a big robe!” She gestured comically with her hands as to what these props should look like.

He laughed along quietly. It didn't feel right to be so charmed and amused around this girl, one with a profession like hers. And more importantly, one with such an important role in Samjaza's plans as she. And although he remained on guard, something about her rapidly pulled his defences down, and left him like a child before her. It left him able to drop his exhausting ruse at least a little. “My name's Lyserg.”

She giggled again, a small sound sweeter than the flap of a bluebird's wings. “It's cute.”

He reddened almost instantly.

“Oh c’mon, don't be shy!” She beamed, reaching out to nudge him playfully on the arm. “You're gonna have to stop worryin’ if you're gonna make this work.”

He jolted, mind brought drastically back to the situation at hand. “Uh, um...”

“You've never done this before, have you? Don't worry, I can tell a first timer.” Her smile remained just as it was when she was giggling about wizards and acting like a child. Only now, the subject was darker, and that smile was a little more disturbing. “I think I'm alright now, if you want to go?”

He felt the sweat gathering yet again in his palms. “Um, uh – yes, y-yes of course.” Did he sound too eager? Suddenly the advice Marco had given him was slipping drastically from his mind.

“Ryu said you had somewhere?” Pirika asked, slowly drawing up her delicate legs in order to get to her feet. Lyserg moved deftly to catch her hand and help her upright. She squeezed her small fingers around his before softly dropping them again to brush herself down. “Unless you wanted to do it here, cuz that's fine too.”

“No! No, I... I have somewhere,” Lyserg replied hastily. He took the opportunity to recover his jacket as an excuse to hide his pained expression. Knowing _why_ he had to do this didn't make the trial any easier to endure. “Um, follow me.”

Pirika nodded obediently and skipped to his side. The small alleyway seemed wider, brighter with her walking alongside him. No, perhaps it was just having company in the lonely streets. He glanced at the black curls of her eyelashes in profile. Yes, definitely just the company.

The sodium glow from the street-lights burned his irises as they emerged back into the main city streets. With small gestures he navigated their way through the alien crowd towards the hotel that Marco had arranged not too far away. It was one of those well-established, high-budget places that existed close to the red-light district exactly for trysts like his. Guests mostly included stale, saggy-looking businessmen too proud to descend into the mundanity of cut-price travel inns and seedy bed and breakfasts, despite the deeds they might be otherwise committing. At least they sinned in style.

The thought of even walking into the plush foyer of the foreboding place terrified Lyserg. He imagined the polite, heavy-lidded male receptionist working the graveyard shift, casting his jealous eyes respectfully downwards as he handed over that gilded room key, access to the realms of hell-inspired pleasure above. At least the imaginary receptionist in Lyserg's mind would only glance up to devour a forbidden glance at Pirika’s young form when they had already disappeared behind the hell-cage of the elevator doors. The glance would be fleeting, escapable – out in the streets, the eyes of passers-by were not so kind. Being in the area they were, it could be assumed that they had seen this sort of arrangement countless times before. And perhaps they had. But something – maybe Lyserg's misinterpreted nervous glances, or Pirika's young, unaffected gaze – made them look twice, visibly seething, judging. There was one disconcerting moment where they passed a gentlemen clad in a greasy suit and sporting a receding hairline, who nodded in approving camaraderie to Lyserg, while a sunken-faced, middle-aged woman hung begrudgingly on the crook of his sleazy arm.

Turning finally into the last street of his ordeal, Lyserg noticed a change in the light. A warm glow enveloped the two as they walked further down the treacherous street. It was only when he heard the distant reaches of singing that he realised that the welcoming light was spilling from the open doors of a building just ahead. It stood oddly among its neighbours, short and stout and small in width. Its steps swept haphazardly right on to the pavement, cracked and grazed in places, but still more hospitable than any other tiny staircase around. Small, circular windows appeared uniformly near the top of its mismatched roof, each embellished delicately with the symbol of a plain lead cross. The sound of voices from inside was not that of a grand choir, but of a small, yet powerful, bunch of rag-tag voices, all different pitches and volumes, expelling large, soulful tunes out into the night. There was no denying it was a church. A Baptist church, yes, but it contained a small sense of home for Lyserg, in this strange and dangerous place. He felt his Catholic-born heart rejoicing in the building's lightness and its joy, calling out to him in the most unlikely of worlds. He found its placement obscenely ironic, being not less than two doors and a road away from the place where the ultimate defilement of the flesh occurred – the same place he was headed. He could almost cry at the realisation that he would have to look past this wonderful, curious place of worship and head onwards to the place of his downfall.

Then suddenly, he felt a childish tug on his arm. Pirika's eyes were shining, reflecting brilliantly the light from the church as perfect halos in her irises.

“Um...” Her voice was small, all but ready to plead. “I'm sorry, I... I haven't prayed in a while. Could we- maybe?”

The desperate expression on her face stunned Lyserg into silence. She twisted the fabric of his jacket nervously in her hand.

“Never mind, really. I'm sorry. We should go on, I know-”

“Let's go,” said Lyserg, taking her unselfconsciously by the hand and leading her up the wayward steps. The music and laughter enveloped them, and for the first time that night, Lyserg relaxed.


	19. Chapter 19

After the incident with the symbol, Anna had taken to hanging around Horo’s apartment during any time she had free. Which, as it turned out, was most of the time. Horo had been forced to explain to her about Ren’s condition, thanks to Ren’s continually odd behaviour and her never-ending curiosity about the matter. Now it was as though she couldn’t bear to leave them alone for too long in case something important happened. She was still waiting to discover how Hao was connected to Ren’s abuse, and Horo had to constantly ward her off from questioning him for too long or too often. Aside from that, Horo found her company pleasant overall, as she did tend to pitch in with the more exhausting aspects of Ren’s care.

When Ren had indicated that he wanted to go for a walk that day, Horo had tried to explain his apprehension. To him, the world outside seemed full of triggers that could send Ren spiralling off into another personality at any moment. Plus there was always the danger of seeing a member of the Grigori again. He wanted to avoid that possibility at all costs.

Usually that would have been the end of the discussion and Ren would have dropped the subject. But with Anna there, insisting that Ren needed fresh air and stimulation, Horo’s refusals had been drowned out. They had left straight away, Horo lagging behind reluctantly.

The day was mild, the noon sun high above them. Small and far away as it was, it did nothing to warm the air. Ren’s eyes were alight with interest as they walked through the downtown streets. He had taken quite well to Anna’s constant presence. Horo guessed Ren was taking his lead on this, only responding to Anna so well because he himself seemed relaxed around her. Ren walked between them now, examining the scenery.

For not the first time that day, Anna was trying her best to question Ren. When Horo had started leaping in to interrupt her conversations, she had instead adopted a roundabout way of asking the questions, to avoid his interference.

“Ren, did you ever meet any businessmen while you were with the Grigori?”

Horo sighed imperceptibly. He tried to tell himself that she wasn’t doing any harm, that _someone_ needed to be asking these questions. He just preferred that it was Faust rather than her, with his knowledge and his equipment to deal with any adverse reaction Ren might have. If Anna accidentally triggered him at any point, it would fall to Horo to deal with it. He still wasn’t sure if he was even capable of that.

Ren shook his head softly. “I don’t think so.”

“What about before the Grigori?”

“I don’t remember.”

Horo tried to focus instead on the shop windows they were passing by, feigning interest in their contents.

“And the name Hao Asakura means absolutely nothing to you?”

“Anna, it doesn’t matter how many times you ask that question, his answer isn’t going to be any different,” Horo said, through gritted teeth.

Anna shrugged. “It might. I could be talking to _someone_ in his head that knows Hao, I can’t tell if he’s changed.”

“I’m still me,” Ren piped up from his place in the middle.

“I know,” Horo smiled down at him. He, on the other hand, was getting better at recognising Ren’s altered states, even becoming familiar with some of the more regularly occurring characters. He soon knew when Thomas was around due to his monosyllabic speech and the way his feet turned inward slightly where he stood. He knew if Micah was nearby from the way his voice hummed and eyes narrowed as he studied. He was even developing a rapport with some of the friendlier alters. There were some however, unknown and otherwise, that still frightened him.

“And you don’t know who that kid you saw in the nightclub was?” Anna didn’t relent. “Suriel, you called him?”

“He’s just Suriel,” Ren said, his eyes focused on the other side of the street. Even he seemed bored of Anna’s constant questions. “What’s that over there?” He asked instead.

Horo squinted against the sun to see where Ren was pointing. “It’s an ice cream cart.”

“And what are those people eating?”

“That’s the ice cream. The guy with the cart sells it,” Horo explained. “Surely you’ve had ice cream before?”

“I can’t remember if I have,” Ren said, sheepishly.

“Okay, well let’s go and get you one,” Horo said, relaxing a little. Ice cream was simple, fun, not dangerous or worrying at all. Yes, this he could deal with.

Ren seemed to flash into youthful Thomas for a moment, and reached his hand out to Horo’s for guidance across the busy road. Before Horo could take it, Anna called out from the pavement behind them. She was turned to face the window of a shop.

“Ren, how about this?”

Horo turned first, and saw what she was trying to point out. The shop behind her was an electronics store, and, like most stores of that nature, they had innumerable television sets facing outward into the street, all showing the same thing. These particular sets were tuned in to the news channel, where a man was being interviewed about a large donation he had made to a children’s charity overseas. His face was familiar and oddly endearing. Repeated across the window a dozen times, smiling easily out at the camera, was the face of Hao Asakura.

Horo was too late to stop Ren from seeing. He turned at Anna’s call and looked immediately like he’d been physically struck. His face changed several times, expressions that Horo recognised as fear, joy, hatred and eventually adoration.

In plain sight of the people passing by them, Ren dropped to his knees in the middle of the sidewalk. With one jubilant exhalation, he breathed, “Samjaza.”

Anna was nothing short of ecstatic as Ren finally confirmed her suspicions. She looked to Horo for acknowledgement, but he barely noticed her as he immediately dropped to Ren’s side. He blundered; this was someone he didn’t recognise. Ren’s hands were clutched together, as though in prayer. His glistening eyes reflected back the multitude of Haos before him. A serene smile was plastered upon his face.

“Ren? Ren, are you there?” Horo shook him gently, trying to ignore the glares of the people who were forced to sidestep around them.

Ren was captivated by the TV screens. He was deaf to Horo’s calls. Hao spoke silently into a microphone, brown eyes fixed into the camera like it was a window to where they now stood.

Anna approached. “Has he changed? I thought you said your doctor friend got rid of the religious one?”

“He didn’t get rid of him, he _reintegrated_ ,” Horo seethed. “This isn’t him, this is someone else.”

Suddenly everyone seemed like a threat. In this vulnerable state, Horo didn’t know what Ren would react to next, what he could do or say. The few people around them suddenly seemed like a teeming, hostile crowd; every car on the road behind them full of armed men waiting to spring out and snatch Ren away. Horo’s paranoia peaked and he tried to pull Ren to his feet, so he could get them both to safety. Ren was easily swayed in this state, but he would not move far enough to stop watching the screens. The million Haos smiled down at them, mockingly.

“We can’t stay here, Ren. Please, let’s go!” Horo begged, pulling on his limp arm.

All at once, the TV picture changed. The news report ended. Ren wasn’t ready to handle the loss. His wails echoed around the street. His cries were so voracious that people looked genuinely alarmed. Those same people gave Horo an accusing look as he was caught pulling on the arm of an obviously distraught young man. Horo let go quickly, cheeks burning. Free, Ren rushed forward to the window of the store and began beating on the glass. “Samjaza! Please! Where have you gone?”

Horo saw the scowl of the store owner inside as he rose from behind the counter and headed to the door with an aggressively sharp stride. “Anna, help me grab him!”

They both hooked an arm around each of Ren’s and pulled him away, kicking and screeching, from the shop. To the shouts of the owner, they battled their way down the street as Ren railed against them, sobbing.

Anna couldn’t contain herself. She leant over Ren to say to Horo, proudly, “I told you Hao was involved. I knew he had something to do with all this.”

“Not now!” Horo snapped. “Help me get him to Faust’s. It’s just around the corner.”

When they burst through the doors of the busy clinic, Ren was visibly distraught. His sobbing and howling were relentless, and all of the patients in Faust’s waiting room looked about in concern, no doubt searching for a physical wound that could be causing the young man to be so inconsolable. Eliza rose to meet them and immediately ushered them through to Faust. The doctor swept them inside the exam room and slammed the door closed.

“Sit him down,” Faust instructed gruffly, preparing a syringe with nimble hands.

Horo and Anna wrestled Ren in to the chair, the sight of the needle making him thrash even more.

At Faust’s command, Horo pinned Ren’s wrist to the armrest and looked away as Faust sank a long needle into Ren’s inner elbow. He lashed out for a few more seconds, keening and whimpering, before falling still and closing his eyes. Horo and Anna carefully released him.

Faust removed his gloves. “Did you have chance to identify that alter?”

Horo shook his head. “We didn’t get chance to talk. It happened when he saw Hao Asakura on TV. I think he’s the Samjaza Ren’s been mentioning.”

“I see,” Faust said, turning his attention to Anna. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“My name’s Anna Kyoyama, I’m a friend of Horo’s. I want to help Ren with his deprogramming.”

“Hmm, so you told her,” Faust observed in Horo’s direction. Back to Anna, he said, “And how exactly did you get involved in this?”

A light seemed to flick in Anna’s head as she suddenly reached into her satchel – the one thing she never left without. She pulled out her notebook and began flicking through her notes for Faust to see. “I’ve been investigating the people I think are responsible for this. Hao Asakura, to be exact. Plus I have some observations on Ren’s behaviour. And then there’s this,” Anna produced the leather case that contained the symbol, and flipped it open to demonstrate. “I found it in Hao’s private office.”

For a heartbeat, Faust froze, his gaze lingering on the strange metal disc. Then suddenly, he reached out to shut the case himself, obscuring the odd pattern from view. Without an explanation, he continued readying his equipment. “Fine. I’m not one to judge. Then, Miss Kyoyama, you’re going to be very interested in what we have to do next.”

\--

Horo was more or less used to Faust’s procedures by now. He knew well the words the doctor used to bring Ren under and could easily recognise the various pieces of equipment he laid aside as he spoke. Anna, on the other hand, was watching with fascination as Faust worked, scribbling furiously into her notebook. If Faust minded her note-taking, he didn’t stop to say so. His aim, he explained, was to catch the alter who had just reacted so strongly to Hao’s appearance and engage it in conversation. Being that the alter had surfaced recently, it was easy to call him around.

“Who am I speaking to?” Faust asked, when Ren’s eyes reopened. He looked nonchalant and disinterested, though Horo couldn’t be sure this wasn’t down to the sedation.

“My name’s Joseph,” Ren said. “Who are you?”

“I’m Dr Faust. I’m working with Ren to help him reintegrate. Do you understand what that means?” He always began with the same introduction. The alter’s responses all varied wildly.

“No,” Joseph said, shortly. “And quite frankly I don’t care.”

“Oh?” said Faust, with a raised eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

“I just want Samjaza back. Where is he?” The sullen look on Ren’s face reminded Horo of Pirika when she sulked after an argument. Like a teenager who had just been told ‘no’.

“Why are you so interested in having Samjaza back?”

“He’s my boyfriend, obviously.” Horo bristled at the term. Anna’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “Tell me where he is.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know where he is, Joseph,” Faust shook his head. “You saw him on a television earlier, not in real life.”

“He’s always on television,” Joseph said, a faraway look in his eyes. “He’s wonderful.”

“You say he’s your boyfriend.”

“Oh yeah. We’re very much in love.”

Something about this whole exchange was making Horo increasingly uncomfortable. He sidestepped a little so he didn’t have to see that dreamy look on Ren’s face.

“Joseph, do you know any of the others who share Ren’s body with you?”

Joseph thought for a moment. “Some, yeah. Why?”

“We have an ally, his name is Micah. Do you know him?”

Joseph was getting warier. He narrowed his eyes at Faust. “Yeah… sort of.”

“If you can speak to him, I want you to ask him what he remembers about Samjaza. He has some memories you might want to share.”

“Why should I?”

“If you do as I ask, it might bring you a step closer to finding out where Samjaza is.”

Joseph huffed. “Fine. I’ll try it. Gimme a sec.”

Ren went still, but not blank. Joseph was still there, at the forefront, though he was clearly having some internal dialogue with another voice, somewhere in Ren’s head space. At first, not much happened that his audience could see, but as Joseph began to learn some of Micah’s more terrible memories of Hao, something quite disturbing began to unfold.

Joseph began to protest aloud, shoving away thin air as though defending himself from an unseen presence. He writhed in his chair but remained pinned to the back rest as though something was holding him there. Horo watched with horror as Joseph started to gag, face upturned, as though something invisible was being forcefully shoved down his throat. His hands clawed at his face and neck, trying to push the intrusion away.

“Faust…” Horo began, edging forward.

Faust said nothing, just raised a hand to stop him, watching Joseph unblinkingly. From across the room, Anna’s eyes were wide with terror, her pencil hanging loosely from her fingers.

Joseph was whimpering now, tears of pain running down his paling face. He coughed and choked and tried to pull away, but something kept him held there. His lips began to turn blue.

“Faust, we’ve got to stop this!” He called out, worrying that the doctor had gone mad.

“Be quiet!” Faust hissed under his breath.

Joseph slithered on to the floor, eyes and nose streaming from the pressure. Horo had just resigned to intervene, regardless of Faust, when the invisible thing apparently vanished and Joseph took a sharp lungful of air. Ren’s body hit the floor moments later, and consciousness slipped from him.

Horo went to him now, and Faust didn’t argue. “What the hell was that?” he asked, angrily. “He could have died!”

But when Faust spoke, it was Anna he was addressing. “Joseph was just reliving the memory of sexual abuse at the hands of Hao Asakura. Hopefully that will change his mind about running back to him. This is the sort of thing we’ll be dealing with here. Tell me, Anna – is your stomach strong enough for this?”


	20. Chapter 20

Marco lay for a long while when he awoke that morning. He stared at the canvas ceiling of his four-poster bed and contemplated how best to go about restoring his beautiful Ferrari California to its former glory. It was going to be expensive, no matter what method he chose. Of course, money was no object when it came to the appearance of his precious vehicles.

It had been a few days since he had found the blood-chilling message scrawled across the side of the car. The shock had worn off, but his fears had not. Each night since, he had slept fitfully, and awoke before dawn, just as he had today. He kept seeing shadows in his doorway as he tossed and turned in his silk sheets. Not even the three extra prayers he said at night seemed to alleviate his paranoia. He was a prisoner in his own mind, where his dark and guilty past had returned to haunt him.

The sounds of his housekeeping staff moving around across the hallway, and it finally prompted him to arise. He pushed his heavy quilts aside and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching for his glasses that sat upon his nightstand. He felt unnaturally lethargic, he had lost his appetite and his will to function. Maybe he would give work a miss today…?

A chilling scream came from downstairs. Marco, in his already hyper-tense state, jumped up quickly. Paying no mind that he was still dressed in only his pinstripe pyjamas, he flew down the stairs two at a time. The screams were now accompanied by sobbing, and long streams of Mexican babble. His housekeeper, Rosa, was hovering in the kitchen doorway. She stared after him with wide eyes as he approached, apparently unable to find the words to describe what she was seeing. He peered cautiously around the door, a hard lump in his throat.

It didn’t take long to locate the cause of Rosa’s distress.                He tasted bile as he processed the scene.

It was there, in the centre of his tall, expensively furnished kitchen. Stuck to the front of a white lacquered cupboard door. Something that might once have been an animal – a rabbit? – nailed to the door like Jesus to the cross. Its sorrowful head flopped forward on to its chest. Its eyes had been removed, its ears severed. It had no jaw to speak of. From its neck to its groin, an open wound split its torso apart.

Its missing body parts weren’t hard to find. Arranged around the animal, the entrails were used to form a crude message. Where the author had run short on guts and gristle, they had smeared blood instead. It said, simply: ‘WE KNOW’. The rabbit’s eyes glared at him unblinkingly at the end of the message, two gruesome punctuation marks.

Marco could feel his very bones shake. He crossed himself as steadily as he could manage, though he was surely beyond God’s mercy now. Whoever this person was, this person masquerading under Wōden’s name, they had been in his very house. All while he lay sleeping and defenceless upstairs. Judging by the way the blood was pooling on the floor, it could only have been a few hours ago. The figure in his doorway… had he really imagined it?

His legs twitched beneath him instinctively, as though to flee. But he felt Rosa’s eyes upon him, waiting for an explanation, maybe reassurance. He cleared his throat, regained his composure.

“Get this cleaned up,” he said coldly, brushing past her with a quick adjustment of his glasses. Her protestations and pleas to call the police followed him all the way up the stairs.

As soon as he closed his bedroom door behind him, he lapsed, the sweat pooling freely on his brow. His stomach felt tight and his mouth tasted like old copper.

This couldn’t go on. The time had come for justice.


	21. Chapter 21

“Immerse yourself in warm orange, a gentle shade of burnt umber to remind you of autumn’s loving glow. A soft and gentle ochre to ease your worried thoughts. A gentle golden sunrise to guide you slowly in…”

Tao Ran’s eyes opened gently. The man’s voice was deep, with a European accent she couldn’t place. He looked at her for a long time, still talking obscurely about colours. She liked listening to his rambling but she didn’t see the point of it, and smiled amusedly. As her expression changed, he stopped.

“Who am I speaking to?” the foreign man asked. His eyes seemed heavy and dull. She knew he had seen a lot of suffering.

“My name is Tao Ran,” she told him, folding her fingers in her lap.

“Ran?” A young man with blue hair on the other side of the room breathed her name in surprise. “Does he think… he’s his mother?”

The doctor shot the boy a warning look before turning back to face her. “Ran, my name is Dr Johann Faust. Do you know me at all?”

Ran shook her head. Of course she didn’t know this man. Why on earth would she? She looked over the white coat he wore and remembered his function. “Doctor…” she trembled as she spoke. “What’s wrong? Is it my Ren? Or Jun? What has he done to them?”

She became aware of someone else in the room – a blonde woman with a withering stare. It did nothing for her nerves.

“Your children are perfectly fine,” the doctor said, reassuringly. “Who did you think could have hurt them?”

Ran inwardly sighed with relief. She tucked her hair behind her ears as she recomposed herself. “My husband.”

“Tao Yuan?”

She nodded sorrowfully. Just like everyone else, this new doctor knew Yuan’s name. “Has he sent you to me?”

“No. Why would he do that?” Dr Faust asked. He had a kindness about him that she liked.

“He likes to have me tested. To make sure I’m not defective and a danger to him.”

“Why would you be dangerous to him?”

“Because of my abilities.” Ran studied the three strangers. She didn’t know their purpose, but she sensed they weren’t working for Yuan. That was enough for her. “You see, I am a mind slave.”

Her audience fell into a dumb silence. The girl scribbled notes in her corner of the room. “Does that sound strange to you?” she ventured, unsure if she had said too much.

“Not at all,” Dr Faust’s mouth curled up at one corner, a flash of a reassuring smile. “We’re here to find out more about your situation and help you, Ran. Is that okay with you?”

“Help me?” Nothing had ever sounded more peculiar. But she was weak and desperate. Trusting them would hardly be her biggest mistake. “Please, if you want to help me, first see to-“

“Ren and Jun,” Dr Faust cut across her. “Don’t worry, they’re safe.”

“Xi è xi è,” she whispered, relief overcoming her. She straightened her shoulders and settled herself back in her chair. “So what can I do for you, Doctor?”

“Could you please tell me your story?”

The girl had stopped scribbling in her notepad long enough to fix her with a curious stare. The blue-haired boy was literally on the edge of his seat waiting for her to begin. “I’m afraid there’s not much to tell,” Ran shook her head softly. “I was born into a family of pure-bred mind slaves. That has been our function for generations past. It runs in the blood you see. The children of mind slaves are bred specifically to be an improvement on their parents. I was deemed an average specimen, but was mated with Tao Yuan in the hopes that we may produce stronger, more easily controlled children.”

“Was Tao Yuan also a mind slave?”

She almost laughed at the notion. “No. Just a man with desirable genes. He was my Handler.”

Faust nodded gravely. “I expected that was the case. Was he unkind to you?”

“Unkind? No, just indifferent. He barely noticed me except for when it was time for us to conceive our children. As soon as Jun was born, he had more pressing concerns.”

“And he treated the children badly?”

Emotion made her eyes sting and she nodded. She thought she heard other people sobbing, but no one in the room shed a tear.

“Jun was his favourite. She was female, and weak. He abused her and sold her to his friends,” Ran knotted her fingers together in her lap, touching the spot where her wedding ring should have been – her shackles to this miserable existence. “But her mind was not strong enough, she broke too easily and too often. She inherited my failures, and we were tasked to produce another child, to be an improvement on Jun. Imagine my husband’s disappointment when Ren was born a boy.”

“Did Ren’s gender stop the abuse?” Dr Faust leant forward as he spoke, resting his gloved hand on his folded knees.

“Of course not. Yuan had an appetite for the young and defenceless. He quickly became accustomed to Ren’s physicality.”

“So Ren was abused in the same manner as Jun.”

“By comparison, he was treated worse. I think Yuan acted out his disappointment during Ren’s conditioning. It greatly affected his development. Yuan’s superiors saw the damage he was doing and persuaded him to give Ren up to someone more… capable. Within a matter of days, Yuan had sold him to a businessman for a considerable sum of money.”

“Was that man called Hao Asakura?”

“I’m afraid Yuan did not involve me in such matters. I honestly have no idea who Ren was sent to be with.”

The doctor exchanged a look with the blonde girl. When he looked back at Ran, his expression was serious. “Do you know what happened to Jun?”

“Yuan was forced to reconcile his misgivings about her and indulge himself in her instead. He’s most likely still parading her around on his arm.”

The blue-haired boy, quiet in the corner until now, cut across her in a biting tone. “Oh, and you’re just okay with that? How could you let this happen to your own kids? You knew what was going on, and you just stood by and watched!”

“Horokeu!” Dr Faust barked, in a tone angrier still. The boy retreated. Ran saw the tears of frustration in his eyes. She did not know how the boy knew her son, but his affection for Ren was clear.

“I apologise, Ran,” Dr Faust said solemnly. “What my friend was trying to say was-“

She held up her hand to wave away his apology. Even as she did so, she felt her heartstrings catch. It brought the tears to her eyes. The three strangers watched her silently as she wept.

“Your apologies are wasted on me,” she finally managed to speak, her small remaining dignity wavering. She dabbed her eyes with a tissue that Dr Faust had passed to her. “I willingly allowed them to be conceived into this hellish existence. Every time Yuan left the house with Ren or Jun in tow, I knew what he was doing with them. I wish I could say it was because he had control over me, but the truth is he was a terrible Handler. I did nothing because I was scared.”

“Scared of Yuan?”

“Scared of those who worked above him. Yuan was violent and unforgiving, but I’d sooner be left to his devices than to those of his superiors.”

Dr Faust touched the tips of his fingers to her shaking hand. It shocked her, having someone be this compassionate towards her. Even that small touch felt like a lifeline. “Ran, I’m grateful that you could share this with us today. I need you to realise that what happened to your children was not your fault.”

She caught hold of his fingers in hers, before he could snatch that life-giving touch away. “I was a terrible mother.”

“Anyone in your position would have felt the same. Fear is natural, and it can be paralyzing. You do not have to answer for your husband’s crimes. That is the responsibility of him, and him alone.”

Something about the consideration in the doctor’s eyes made her feel like something of a person again. His words were true. In a quiet voice, she asked him, “And they’re safe now?”

Dr Faust nodded. “Yes. We’ll do all we can for them. You can rest now, if you’d like.”

She blinked slowly, gratefully, before turning one last time to the blue-haired boy across the room. “Please tell him how you feel,” she said, earnestly. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the peace that washed over her.

\--

When Ren came to, he was still clutching Faust’s hand in his. His shoulders slouched forward and he seemed crumpled in his chair. He was still for a long time. Faust beckoned Horo to his side, and as he approached, Ren finally spoke.

“My father… oh, God…” He clutched his hands around his upper arms and trembled.

Horo rested a hand on his shoulder. “He’s remembering… isn’t he?”

Faust nodded gravely. “One of the unfortunate side effects of reintegration, I’m afraid. His Ran alter obviously protected him from memories of his father’s abuse. Ren, were you aware that you had an alter modelled after your mother?”

Ren shook his head almost imperceptibly. He said nothing, still processing what he had to learn.

“Horokeu, may I speak to you for a moment?” Faust motioned him to step aside. Reluctantly, he pulled away from Ren and followed. The doctor fixed him with a chilling stare. “Regarding what Ran said…”

Horo’s face grew warm. “I have no idea what she meant.”

“I believe you do. And I just want to offer this advice: before you start, just stop. Whatever you want to feel, whatever you think you might feel, just forget it. Is that clear?”

“I’m-“

Faust was leaving no room for argument. He checked his watch briskly and said, louder now, “I have to go. Horokeu, I need you to ensure he places an object for his mother on the altar.”

“Wait!” Horo stammered. “Look at him, he needs-“

“He needs you,” Faust said, simply. “His Handler. I’ll speak with you tomorrow.”

Gathering his bags in one large hand, he nodded to Anna, and left.

Horo looked nervously into Ren’s face. He wasn’t crying, but Ran’s tears were still wet on his cheeks. “Ren? Are you alright?”

“I have to find her,” he replied, through chattering teeth.

“Your mother?”

“Jun,” he choked on her name. “If my father still had her… if he’s still doing these things to her…”

“We’ll find her,” Horo said, as confidently as he could manage. “But we need to continue with your treatment, so we can find out where she is. As soon as we know, we’ll work on saving her.”

Ren watched him carefully as he spoke, as though analysing his every syllable for a hint of a lie. Appeased, but still shaking, he nodded gratefully. “Can I… use the bathroom?”

“Of course.”

As Ren shuffled away, arms still wrapped around himself defensively, Anna cocked her head in Horo’s direction. “Nicely done, Mr Handler.”

Horo shirked at her comment. Over anything else he had heard that day, _that_ had made him the most uncomfortable.


	22. Chapter 22

“Come on, you'll be fine. My brother can be a dick, but he's not a total tyrant or anythin’.”

Lyserg's upper lip quivered into a hint of a smile. He wanted to hear what Pirika was saying – he wished it was just the fear of meeting her older brother that terrified him. Oh, how he wished. And it pained him, beleaguered him to think that she wasn't privy to his current concerns, what was bothering him here and now. He touched her hand as she straightened the lapels on his neatly-pressed blazer. “Pirika...” he started.

“And if he does have a problem with you, screw him. There's always my room we can chill in,” she smiled warmly. The burgundy lipstick she had been wearing remained as nothing but slivers in the cracks of her lips. He wished she didn’t feel like she needed to make the effort. Not with him. Her broken slang clashed horribly with her rural accent, and pity welled in him as he regarded her. This girl was so sweet, the kind of young lady his mother would want him to marry – those enveloping, captivating azure eyes, so soft in their ensnare that they would have made angels sigh, framed hideously by thick layers of kohl and mascara that would have revolted her _own_ mother, let alone his. Why did it have to be her?

“Quit stallin’,” she took his hand firmly, her painted fingernails catching at his skin with eagerness, a touch that sent a chill through the base of his spine and quickened his heart into action. Before he knew it, they were bounding up the stairs in the run-down old apartment building. The air smelled putrid and the décor left a lot to be desired. It was only a few flights up when he realised: this was Pirika's existence. This was her life, her world. And he was about to intrude so rudely into it, steal glances at her roots, her troubles, with his own dark intentions clutched close to his heart. He felt like the devil's watchman.

If this was indeed the place, it wouldn't be too much longer until his intentions were exposed anyway. As she bounded ahead of him up the stairs, he opened his mouth once or twice to say something, anything that might delay her enough that he might tell her his secret.

His time soon ran out. A moment later, Pirika placed her gentle hand on the doorknob of an unassuming apartment. She shot him one more reassuring smile, reaching out as an afterthought to readjust his collar for him. Patting him lightly on the chest, she beckoned for him to enter.

Lyserg took a deep breath, as though hitting water, and plunged inside.

\--

It had taken the best part of an hour to bring Ren round from his ghoulish state, the remnants of his reintegration with Ran. As the memories of his father resurfaced, again and again, in terrible waves, it was all Horo and Anna could do to keep Ren from blacking out with his surge of emotions. After the anger and the shaking had subsided, Horo assisted him in placing a memento of his mother on the Altar of Forgiveness, as Faust had instructed.

As they knelt together, placing the thimble Ren had chosen among the ever-growing collection, Horo felt Ren rest against him exhaustedly. It felt calming, and he sank into it. He placed an arm around Ren’s waist to hold him there, gently. He closed his eyes and exhaled, relaxing properly for the first time in days.

Too soon, the moment was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. His ears pricked up like a hound’s and he turned to see Pirika entering. She swept into the room, smiling as though she hadn’t been missing for days.

“Pirika, where the hell have you been? You could have called, I’ve been-“

“Horo, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Pirika spoke over him, clear and loud, her cheeks flushed. That was when he became aware that someone else lurked in the doorway behind her.

“This is my boyfriend, Lyserg.”

Horo barely had time to register the words before he heard Ren’s howl of terror from beside him. That was all the warning he needed.

He scrambled to his feet and rushed towards the stranger, whose eyes flashed with fear as he grasped with futility at the door handle. Horo charged Pirika out of the way, who screamed indignantly. The door opened as Lyserg finally tugged it open.

Horo was faster. He pushed a firm hand against Lyserg’s chest and sent him flailing against the door.

“Who are you?” he demanded, inches from the young man’s face. Horo watched the boy’s pupils darting wildly, calculating escape.

“Horo, what the fuck! Let him go, you retard!” Pirika screeched.

“Pirika… just back off,” Horo hissed under his breath. Louder, he called out, “Ren, are you okay? Talk to me.”

“Yes… I’m fine,” Ren’s feeble voice called back.

“Who is he?”

“Suriel!” Ren choked. “He is Suriel…”

Pirika was wrenching at her brother’s arms. “Your friend is messed up! His name’s Lyserg, I _told_ you!”

Anna appeared at Pirika’s side, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t you go and sit down? Hopefully we can straighten this out.”

“Bitch, who the hell even _are_ you?” Pirika shrugged Anna’s hand away. But Anna’s confidence must have shaken her, as she let go of Horo completely.

Horo kept his eyes locked with Lyserg. “Suriel – are you known by that name?”

Lyserg started to shake his head, and Horo applied more pressure to his chest.

“O-Okay! Yes, I… I’ve been called that before.”

Anna swept forward. “Who by?”

“I-It’s no one! Just… some friends.”

“The same friends that have set you up screwing my sister to get here, huh?” Horo raised his voice.

“What the-? Don’t talk crap, Horo!” He heard Pirika protesting behind him.

Horo slammed Lyserg against the door once again, partly to bring Pirika to silence, partly to scare him into talking.

“Did he send you here?”

“I don’t know what you mean-“

“Don’t play dumb. Hao Asakura, Samjaza, or whatever the hell he’s calling himself. He’s set you up to this.”

Lyserg didn’t have to speak. The way his eyes filled with guilty tears, his mouth floundering for words, told Horo everything he needed to know.

“You two-faced bastard,” Horo snarled, gripping Lyserg’s collar and pushing him headfirst towards the sofa. Throwing him down on to it, Horo took a reassuring glance at Ren, who was shielding himself carefully behind the bedroom doorway.

“So, do you want to be the one to tell my sister what’s going on? Or do I have to do it?”

Lyserg’s teary eyes flicked between all three of them, finally landing on Pirika with hesitation.

“Pirika… I’m so sorry…”

“Lyserg, what? What’s goin’ on?” Pirika looked toward her brother for answers. He could hear the tears welling in her voice.

“Your ‘boyfriend’ has been using you to get here to us. To Ren. I’m sorry Pirika, but he’s nothing but a pathetic spy. He has no real feelings for you whatsoever.”

“That’s not true!” Lyserg burst out. “It’s… It’s true in part. But I do care for you, Pirika. I really do.”

“Save it,” Anna snapped. “Now tell us: what do you want with Ren?”

Lyserg seemed genuinely confused. “Miss, I don’t think you realise, but he really needs to go home.”

“Where to?”

“To the Sanctuary. Samjaza awaits him there.”

“And what if he wants to stay here with us – what would happen then?” Horo demanded, catching a reassuring glimpse at Ren’s glistening eyes.

“Samjaza would never allow it. God himself will never allow it. It would be against His will.”

“God’s will, or Hao’s will?” Anna pushed.

“Both. They are one and the same. Samjaza acts as a messenger of God. He is Ren’s protector.”

“What exactly does Ren need protection from?” Horo asked, sceptically. He had heard this tale before, from Micah. Coming from someone outside of Ren’s head, it sounded more obscene still.

“Mankind. Human corruption. He is not of this earth, and we must do what is right by Ren in order that he may assume his rightful place back in Heaven, as an angel, at our Lord’s side.”

Pirika spoke up, her voices cracking with tears. “What’re you talking about? There’s no way that freak is an angel. It’s almost blasphemy, I can’t believe you would say… would even _think_ such a thing!”

“Pirika, I was hoping you would be able to meet the Grigori one day, after Ren had been returned once more to Samjaza’s care. I have never been more welcome than I have been by their faith, and I know you would be too.”

Horo took a step forward. “She’s going nowhere near them, do you understand? And I think if you want to make amends to my sister, you need to start telling us the truth. You’re a member of this Grigori cult, aren’t you?”

Lyserg turned so he could not see Pirika’s expression as he said, dejectedly, “Yes, I am. But we’re not a cult.”

Anna raised an eyebrow. “Yet you follow every instruction that your ‘Samjaza’ gives you? Hmph. Sounds like a cult to me.”

“It is not our duty to question his – and ultimately, God’s – will. We are just here to help Samjaza with his charge,” Lyserg protested.

“And why does he have to take care of Ren in the first place?” Horo said, scornfully.

“When Ren was banished to earth as a fallen angel, it was because he sympathized with mankind and their misgivings. Our Samjaza was the prophet trusted to teach Ren about the sins of man until he understood well enough to regain his position at the Lord’s side.”

Horo bristled. “Teach him how, exactly?”

Lyserg hesitated. “I don’t know the details myself. You have to understand, I haven’t been involved for very long – I was never allowed into the antechamber where Ren sleeps. You must be of a certain rank to go there, and I am still but an apprentice to Samjaza.”

Horo could tell his aggression was rising, that maybe he was being too harsh on the young man who sat before him. He really did seem to believe the things he was saying were true. Perhaps he didn’t know anything about the real nature of Ren’s existence. But Horo had been looking for someone to blame for this whole atrocity, and finally one of Hao’s very own had landed in front of him, ripe for the blame. He couldn’t pass up this opportunity to release these pent-up emotions. “You want to know what goes on in that antechamber, huh?”

Lyserg’s watery eyes shone with doubt for a moment.

“I’ll tell you exactly what happens. That young man…” he raised a shaking finger to point in Ren’s direction. “Is beaten. Abused. Raped. He has his mind taken apart day by day and systematically put back together again by your precious Samjaza. He has conditioned him to think how he wants him to, made him capable of treason, murder, or worse, at a simple command. And you think that’s normal?”

“Th-That’s not-“

“He has the scars to show you that it’s true, so don’t you dare think about denying it. Now I don’t give a damn whether you admit to knowing about this or not. What I want to know is whether or not you’re going to do the right thing and help us.”

The silence that followed was permeated only by the sound of Pirika stifling back tears as Lyserg tackled the problem internally.

“What exactly would you want me to do?” he half-whispered, hesitantly.

Anna spoke first, primed for the problem as always. “What you’d need to do is report back to us. The Grigori are obviously moving against us – that’s why they sent you here. So we want to know what they’re planning, even before they’ve set their wheels in motion. We want the upper hand.”

Horo nodded to her approvingly, noticing the triumphant glint in her eyes.

“You say you care about Pirika? This is how you prove it. Providing she stills wants you, that is,” Anna pressed on.

Lyserg’s eyes searched questioningly at Pirika, whose disdainful expression had not changed. “Pirika?”

“Like I’m gonna let you use him in your crazy plans,” Pirika suddenly snapped. “C’mon Lyserg, we’re leavin’.” Tugging at Lyserg’s arm, Pirika pulled him from the sofa and towards the door.

“Pirika, you don’t understand what’s going on,” Horo called out after her.

It was enough to stop her in her tracks for a moment. She wheeled around to face him, eyelashes wet with tears. “No, Horo – _you_ don’t understand what’s goin’ on. Cults? Brainwashing? You need to get in the fuckin’ real world and stop listening to that mental patient.”

“Don’t talk about Ren like that,” Horo retorted hotly.

Pirika laughed cruelly, Lyserg’s hand dangling limp in hers. “If you believe his crazy stories, you deserve a strait-jacket yourself. I’m done with your shit, Horo. Don’t expect me back.”

Pulling Lyserg briskly along, Pirika marched out of the apartment. Horo stared blankly after the door as it slammed.

Anna seemed unfazed. “They’ll be back. I know I got through to him.”

Whether they were coming back didn’t concern him at the moment. What did worry him was what would happen to his sister in the time before they did.


	23. Chapter 23

Horo had shut himself away since Pirika had stormed out. He wallowed in his bedroom, choosing to immerse himself in the pitch-blackness, rather than face the harsh reality of the world. He had somehow slept until morning, in sheets that smelled of Ren. The comfort of the bed that he had not slept in for weeks, combined with that scent, was a perfect trap for his melancholy state.

Sitting with his head in his hands, he let the darkness fold around him. He had been hungry for a few hours, but lacked both the desire and the will to do anything about it. The feeling gurgled on in his stomach until it began to rot inside of him. Eventually, it burned itself away to nothing and he no longer felt a thing. During the course of the day, he’d managed to get himself so far as the foot of his bed. He’d started off struggling to bring his head from beneath the warm sanctuary of his covers, followed with equal resistance by his body. Each careful step had taken him hours to landmark, but his accomplishment of sitting where he was, in nothing but his sleeping attire, didn’t make him feel proud.

The tears had come a few times, surfacing like sea monsters from the unfathomable ocean that seemed to be his feelings. They ran down his cheeks unbidden, with no encouragement to aid them. They ceased within a few seconds each time, and he felt no different. That thick rope of worries still wrapped itself tightly around each of his organs, squeezing the life out of them. His heartbeat seemed laboured, as though it was forcing itself to continue even pounding. His lungs struggled to give breath, restricted and somnolent. His stomach felt bruised from the lashing it was receiving, and threatened to spill itself sporadically. The bile rose up in his throat time after time, but with nothing to fuel its onslaught, it shrank away meekly and retreated back to its home.

But it was his mind that felt the most tortured. Over and over it reminded him of the person he was, and the person he was fast becoming. It brought about images of his sister, in her unsavoury occupation, forever in peril. It whipped him with replays of her embittered face the previous night, leaving clutching the arm of an insipid turncoat whom she so whole-heartedly trusted herself with. It chided him for his own uselessness and lack of drive, scorned his weaknesses and his inability to provide for those he cared about. It reproached him with the constant reminder of Ren’s well-being – the sinister design that surrounded him, and his own responsibility in such an aggravated plan.

The thought of his violet-haired charge revealed a dim bulb in the darkness. Flickering as it was, it was there nonetheless. He momentarily gained the strength to pick up his head and listen. He hadn’t spoken to Ren all day. Shut away in here, like a beast caged, Ren hadn’t so much as dared to knock his door. It was almost as if he knew he needed the space, to submerge in his self-disgust and hatred for the world. Horo had heard him pottering around the apartment all day; heard water running, and white noise from the television. It was almost as if he knew that he could do nothing better than carry on unaided, and seemed to be achieving a level of self-sufficiency he wouldn’t normally express.

Horo, for the first time that day, let the corner of his mouth fold into a smile as he pictured his charge, occupying himself with things no average person would be able to fathom. He pictured the watered-down milk he’d most likely been preparing for himself as per Faust’s guidance, the tiny snacks barely enough to assuage even the smallest of appetites. Something about that innocence roused a feeling of determination in him, feeling suddenly a sense that he needed to get up, put on some clothes, and merely be in the presence of the young man. That strange, tormented, yet somehow soothing soul.

He was barely a step from the bed when a knock came from the door.

_It was almost as if he knew._

The knock was small, but resolute. Horo breathed out what felt like a sigh of relief and let himself sink back down on to the bed. “Come in.”

A chink of light peeked its way into the room, followed quickly by Ren’s purple bangs as he struggled to look through the tiny gap in the doorway. The sight of two golden eyes, reflecting ethereally in the darkness, made Horo smile anew. “Come inside,” he instructed again.

Ren scooted around the door and shut it behind himself hastily, as though terrified he might let any small particle of blackness escape. He rested his back against the door, taking stock of the room, and drinking in for a long while Horo’s image.

Horo was used to the sustained, invasive staring matches by now, and lent back so that Ren might catch better stock of him. His throat still felt tight as he tried to speak, and coughed lightly before he managed the words, “I’m glad to see you.”

“You’re sad,” Ren stated, matter-of-factly. It wasn’t a question.

“I guess you could say that,” Horo threw his gaze downwards, shame resting heavy against his spine. He never let things destroy him to such a point as this. Even if the world was going to hell, he always maintained the fact that he could persevere and keep on moving forward. Since when had he lost the ability to temper this torrent of emotions?

 _Probably since you quit drinking,_ his mind mocked. How he’d kill for a shot of strong liquor...

“Why?” Ren asked, eyes fixed so intently it looked as though he was trying to set Horo on fire with his gaze.

“No reason. Well, ugh... it’s a lot of things. I don’t know,” Horo stuttered. He risked a glance at Ren’s cat-like eyes, framed neatly on either side by those porcelain ears, sculpted like delicate shells. Those ears could listen, and they wouldn’t judge, scoff, or scold. He could place his worries inside them, they would dissolve like salt in water, and be sealed away forever; a lock and key in the form of a person who would never willingly betray him. For the first time, he realised with a brief jolt the appeal of a mind slave.

“There are a lot of things,” he breathed, rubbing his hands over the stone that was his face. “Pirika, mainly.”

Suddenly, Ren appeared beside him. Sat at his feet like a child waiting for a story, Ren’s hand touched his kneecap lightly, wandering around its shape before resting there reassuringly. “Tell me,” he said, leaving no window for argument.

Horo watched those dainty fingers dancing around his knee, a warmth resonating from Ren’s palm as it touched him. Ren’s enduring gaze had not left him, those eyes radiating like sunbeams. He almost felt obliged to continue. “I’m just worried about her, you know?” he sighed. “I always have been, though I know she doesn’t realise it. God, she hates me. She really fuckin’ hates me.” Horo let an exasperated laugh escape him, and another tear rose up uninvited. He whisked it away harshly and continued on. “I always thought that I could put everything right, get a good job, make a home for us to live in, like mom and dad would have wanted. I dunno who I’ve been kidding. I can’t even take care of myself, let alone anybody else.”

“You take care of me.”

“But you’re... you’re _different_. It’s so simple and easy with you, it’s like I’m supposed to be here. But Pirika, she fights and resists and won’t listen to anything I’ve got to say. She lashes out at me and says things that don’t seem like her. Sometimes I don’t believe she’s the same sister I grew up with, and I blame myself for it. She wouldn’t be this way if I hadn’t fucked things up so badly for us both, if I’d just grown a pair and got on with it. We could be living anywhere we wanted by now. She could be finishing college. Instead she’s a down-and-out just like her brother, selling herself because I can’t provide. I keep telling myself she’s selfish, and she doesn’t need to do these things, but maybe she does? I never know what to think, she’s smarter than me, maybe she sees something I don’t?”

Ren’s grip grew tighter and his other hand appeared on Horo’s other knee. Holding them both as though they tethered him to the ground, he stared right up into Horo’s spent expression, urging him to carry on.

“And then there’s you. You need someone strong to look after you, not me. Look at me, I’m pathetic, sobbing like a child. I keep wondering if Faust is the one who should be taking care of you. He knows what you’re going through, and he’s a doctor. Why does he think I can do this by myself?” The rush of emotions was hard to resist once they’d broken through. He let them devour him and more tears rushed down his face, dripping lightly on to Ren’s small hands. “And then there’re the people who did this to you, Ren. What kind of a fucked up place do we live in if people like them are allowed to do whatever they damn well please? Not even little, insignificant people either. Powerful people, people who should know better – like this Hao guy. Who the fuck does he think he is, playing with people’s lives like this?”

Horo let his head fall further, the tears turning into sobs, racking his body with each painful wrench. His stomach revolted again, and he clutched at it, knowing that to carry on crying was going to be painful, but still he couldn’t stop.

“And look at me in all of this. Take the alcohol away from me and this is all I am? A self-righteous dick with nothing to offer to the world except spewing up this crap? All hate and regret? If I knew me as a person, I’d hate me. No motivation, no fucking backbone. I’m sick of this shit, I’m sick of myself, I’m sick of the goddamn world.”

His forehead made contact with something soft. He didn’t even flinch to find out what he had hit. He sank into it, those last feeble sobs cleaving at the air in his lungs. His eyes burned and ears rang mercilessly. He felt a hand touch the back of his head, and he realised that what he was leaning against was in fact Ren’s shoulder. Despite his small frame, his shoulder was welcoming. Ren finger’s twisted in his limp hair reassuringly, stroking at his scalp like a light spring rain dancing across the surface of a calm pool. Concentrating on the motion, his body came to a stop, slowing as though it had been cut from its energy source, and the tears were thwarted. He rested, eyelids heavy yet wide awake. Some violet hair tickled at his nose and he inhaled Ren’s scent. His skin smelt pure through the thin cotton shirt he wore, infatuating with allure. He couldn’t help but lift a finger to brush away Ren’s shirt collar, to rest his face on it unobstructed. He nuzzled into his collar bone, breathing deep. The scent was overpowering in its persuasion, and he put his lips against it, wanting to see how it tasted. His stomach unknotted itself and his lungs felt free again. His heartbeat quickened in an unexpected revival, and his body stopped quivering. He didn’t move for a long while, breaths long and heavy into Ren’s shoulder, intoxicated by the moment. Ren didn’t move, stroking circles into the back of Horo’s head, other hand now clutching securely at his hip.

Horo pressed his lips against Ren’s collar, a little harder. He tasted like sugared almonds, enchanting and addictive. His spare hand wandered for a moment, before finding a place to rest on Ren’s neck. Horo decorated his skin with glances of his parted lips, wanting to catch that ambrosial taste on his tongue. He pecked heedlessly, like a child taking guilty licks of a toffee apple before it is snatched away at dinnertime. He kissed up and down Ren’s neck, circling round and round, mind hazy from the touch. Ren gasped softly against his head and gripped his blue hair tighter. The darkness aggravated his need and spurred him further onwards, each kiss becoming more and more intentional.

“Horo...” Ren’s voice mumbled right in to his ear. The hot breath inside his eardrum stirred him, and he stopped short. He suddenly saw himself from above, collapsed into Ren’s fragile arms and making such an intrusion. He started tripping over words of apology, cheeks getting hotter. “I-I’m-“

“Horo... you need to wake me up,” Ren whispered. The words reverberated around his eardrum as loudly as if Ren had shouted them.

“...What?” he breathed intently, body stiffening.

“Trigger me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Part of me... he knows what to do, to comfort you. You just have to call him.”

“Call him?” Horo withdrew from Ren’s neck to look him in the eyes; those bewitching, liquid eyes. “Wait... your programming?”

Ren nodded resolutely, eyes boring in to Horo’s.

“I can’t, Ren! That’s... it’s... it’s not right. I-“

“I want to be here for you, but he does it best. He knows.”

Horo couldn’t believe he hadn’t realised sooner. _Of course_ Ren would have programming for that purpose. What more would those sick bastards want with him? If they wanted to ensnare his mind, it seemed obvious that they would want his body too. The thought made him shudder, which made Ren grip him closer. His cheek brushed the side of his, and filled him with that yearning once more.

“It’s not my place, I’m not...“ He gasped in anticipation. “But...I _want_ you.”

He quivered and the base of his spine began to ache dully. In frustration, he tossed his head aside and locked lips with Ren hungrily. In his longing, he deepened the kiss and let himself drop to his knees beside Ren. Ren fidgeted and mumbled something into his mouth. He pulled away, fingers itching at Ren’s sides.

“Tiger,” Ren said, through short breaths. “Call for Tiger.”

Horo faltered. He knew enough from Faust by now to recognise the keyword for a specific part of Ren’s programming. All he had to do was give that word meaning, and he could...

A wave of desire prickled through him, like hot water being poured through his veins. His mouth formed the words before he’d even had to chance to structure them. Pressing his face against Ren’s, he growled into his ear. “Tiger, I _need_ you.”

Ren made no discerning movement to give away his altered state. Horo considered if he’d said it right, or whether there was a specific sentence he should have used. He pulled back a little, tamed momentarily by the realisation of what he may have done, and what he was about to do next. Locking eyes with Ren once more, he didn’t have chance to regret much longer. Ren pushed Horo up and backwards, in a movement that belied his true physical strength. Pinning him on to the bed with a force his frail body didn’t seem capable of, Horo got a glimpse of Ren’s pupils – a thin fracture of black, unnervingly cat-like. Almost feral, he acknowledged, before Ren’s lips were once again against his.

This time, there was no hesitation. Ren kissed back with ten times the ferocity that Horo had delivered, a tongue probing out to explore. Horo accepted the intruder willingly, drinking up its taste and letting it exploit his mouth at its leisure. His fingers gripped at Ren’s torso, nails digging in to the flesh beneath them. He tugged at the shirt, trying desperately to remove such an undesirable obstruction. Ren obliged with little persuasion, before diving back into the kiss. As Horo kneaded and clawed at Ren’s porcelain skin, he felt his own shirt disappearing above his head. Ren broke contact and he moaned in displeasure. When Ren found him again, he was kissing around the nape of his neck. Horo arched his back and surrendered to the feeling. He ran his hands over Ren’s delicate hipbones as the kisses placed upon him turned to bites. He gritted his teeth as he felt them move lower; down his chest, around his stomach, landing lastly on the area beneath his bellybutton, making him twitch with desire.

The room seemed to grow blacker as he surrendered to the feeling, losing control of his lower body almost instantly.

Ren made Horo feel like this was entirely natural. His only experience before this had been a few drunken fumbles with guys he had met in bars, and regrettably, one woman, before he had figured things out. But _this_ , this was something else entirely, a whole new plane of excitement and wonder and ecstasy. Ren took nothing for himself, was there obviously only to please him, and for once he could not be more grateful to be selfish.

After Ren had finished with him, and all colour in the universe had exploded behind his eyes, they lay back in the bed together. Horo fell asleep, holding Ren’s sweating hand and trying to catch his breath. When he awoke sometime in the small hours of the morning, Ren had gone, only a stained and rumpled sheet where he had been.


	24. Chapter 24

“How much further is it?”

Lyserg was snapped from his reverie by Pirika, who walked beside him. He should have been excited. For the first time, he was about to take her to meet the Grigori. Samjaza had requested her presence, and he wanted to believe it was because she was to be accepted into their family. But a small part of him – the part that had several times seen cracks in Samjaza’s composure – knew that the invitation was extended only due to his own lack of progress. Through his own hesitation, he had not told the Grigori that he knew where Ren was living. He was lying to protect them, though he couldn’t say why. 

“I’m sorry, we’re nearly there,” Lyserg smiled at her, best as he could.

“Oh no, it’s okay! It’s not like I mind. As long as I’m walkin’ with you, it don’t matter how far we have to go,” she said, slipping her fingers into his.

When she said things like that, he couldn’t help but stop worrying. She looked beautiful in her plain black button-down dress, and surely the Grigori would accept her with open arms and hearts, and together they would praise God and Samjaza ‘til their weary souls could do no more. She would be one of them, and that would be enough.

They were well outside the city borders now. Civilization had long since faded, and in its place, industrial buildings had begun to rise. It was lonely out here, in the wasteland of man’s progress, but having Pirika beside him made everything so much brighter.

“So… when I meet Samjaza, do I need to like, bow or anythin’?” she asked in the nervous silence.

“You will need to kneel before him, but don’t worry, I’ll be there to guide you,” Lyserg said, reassuringly. “They’re not out to embarrass you.”

“Hey, can you hear that?” Pirika stopped in her tracks for a moment to listen. He was hoping she hadn’t noticed. There was a sound in the distance that was unnatural to their surroundings, a low rumbling with several short, sharp bursts of sound. It sounded like music. Loud music.

“It’s probably nothing,” he said, pulling her hand to get her moving again. “Let’s just keep going.”

Pirika shrugged dismissively and matched his pace, slightly quicker now. He was inwardly commending himself for his cool-headed response, when inside he felt like a hoard of flesh-eating butterflies were trying to gnaw their way out of his stomach. Was he imagining it, or was the music getting louder?

“Are you alright?” Pirika asked, withstanding only a few seconds of silence. “Your hand’s all sweaty.”

Self-consciously, he tried to snatch his hand away to wipe it on his suit trousers. “Oh! I’m sorry…”

She caught his fingers before he could pull them from hers. “No, it’s okay. I know you’re worried about me meetin’ these guys, but I promise I won’t show myself up.”

He was so busy looking into her comforting eyes as she spoke, drawing strength from her confident voice as she chattered, that he barely noticed her face change and her steps slow. “Lyserg…” she breathed, with dilated pupils fixed somewhere in front of them. The fear in her voice made him reluctant to look, and he followed her gaze with hesitation.

Ahead of them, in the narrow streets of the industrial estate, was a group of cars. Backed up against each other from wall to wall of the dirt-path street, their doors were flung open wide and revealed them to be the source of the terrible noise. Loud, offensive music was spilling out from the souped-up sound system of one of the beaten vehicles. Gathered around them, smoking, drinking, and laughing raucously, were the men Lyserg recognised as Ryu and his gang.

Both he and Pirika froze like rabbits caught in their tinted headlights, no less than ten feet away from them. They hadn’t spotted them yet, but it was only a matter of seconds.

“Lyserg, just run,” Pirika said, no louder than a whisper.

Before he could begin to list all of the reasons why he wouldn’t leave her, one of the men shouted in their direction, and as a terrifying unit, the group all turned to look at them with dosed-up eyes. Including, with an expression of smouldering violence, the intimidating Ryu. He rose like a giant from the bonnet of a car, a half-empty bottle still clutched in his hand. He shouted after them, an indiscernible sound, and started toward them with long strides.

“We’ve got to go, Pirika,” Lyserg said, taking a step backward and urging her away. “Come on!”

She was frozen, and didn’t respond. She stared at Ryu, eyes glittering, like she had a terrible fate she knew she was supposed to accept.

“Pirika, let’s go!” he urged again, and this time, pulled her backwards with him. She stumbled into a run. Lyserg set the pace, adrenaline sending his feet flying as Ryu and his gang sped up behind them. Soon they were running too, a thudding of feet on the ground in which every step sounded like the pounding of a war drum. His own heavy steps made his heart pulse even harder as they tore past the abandoned buildings.

Pirika’s high-heeled shoes kept catching beneath her, and she stumbled again and again. Lyserg caught her each time, both of them gasping for breath. He dared not look behind, hearing the gang drawing closer. He knew there was a matter of inches between them. One more false move and…

Pirika tumbled. She fell flat this time. Her arms hung on to Lyserg’s still and pulled him down with her. His heart faltered as his knees hit the ground, hard. He scrambled to his feet hastily. “Come on!” he urged her. Her face and knees were bloody where she had scraped them, and she looked up at him with an expression that told him she was lost. He didn’t even think of leaving her as Ryu’s men converged upon them.

He felt only a few punches as they wrestled him away from Pirika and held him fast. They were saving the best for Ryu. It took only one of them to restrain Pirika, a man with muscles bigger than his head. She screamed out to him as Ryu approached, panting from his sprint.

“So you’re the little shit she’s been seein’, huh?” Ryu hissed as he drew up to them, the bottle he was holding swinging loosely from his hand. “I been waitin’ to meet you, give you a piece o’ my mind.”

Pirika struggled as Ryu got closer. “Ryu, please! You don’t need to hurt him!”

Ryu swung round to her, waving his bottle at her viciously. “I don’t need no lecture from you, you little slut. You forgettin’ who owns you, huh? This rat only paid me once for you. That don’t mean he gets to fuck you whenever he damn well likes! I’m gonna bust him a new asshole for this.”

The gang around him whooped and cat-called as they brandished him to Ryu. He fought them only weakly, knowing he had no hope of besting their strength.

“Listen!” he pleaded desperately, not knowing what he was going to say, but wanted to do something, anything, to give them pause. “If it’s about money, fine – I can pay you. Just leave Pirika alone, and let us be together.”

Ryu broke out into an insane laughter. His lackeys followed suit, jeering and mocking Lyserg at their leader’s cue.

“Be together?” Ryu sneered. “You know what she is, right? You know you ain’t gonna be her only man. She’s looser than my mawmaw’s teeth!”

Laughter again. Lyserg saw the shame brightening Pirika’s cheeks, and he burned for her.

“Thing is, Mr Bigshot,” Ryu paused long enough to smash his bottle upon the ground. Its amber contents splashed asunder. He kept hold of the broken bottle neck, testing it in his hands. “She ain’t just fuckin’ you. She’s been runnin’ around behind my back for months. And she thinks I don’t know it!”

That broken glass was worryingly close, and Ryu jerked it about haphazardly as he spoke. Whether by accident or with intent, Ryu was going to use that against him, he knew that. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the rumble of an engine, and he willed it to be heading in their direction.

“First, I’m gonna gut you,” Ryu swiped the air with the bottle suggestively. “Then, I’m gonna make sure no one wants to touch her again. See how far she gets without that pretty face.”

“Yo, boss…” the heavy holding Pirika interrupted, eyes fixed somewhere in the distance. Ryu span around to face him, ready to direct his pent-up rage at his own men if he had to. Then he saw what had caught his men’s attention. Even Lyserg risked a glance. With revving of engines and a screech of brakes, more cars were speeding their way. Their headlights blinded them as they approached, accompanied by the war cry of the men inside.

“Fuck, he’s here!” some of the men cursed and bristled. Ryu straightened to confront the group that began pouring out of the cars. He locked eyes with one in particular – the short but devious looking leader of the rival gang, who stared down his long nose at Ryu like he was something he’d just wiped from the bottom of his expensive trainers.

“Chocolove,” Ryu seethed. “What the fuck are you doin’ here?”

“Ain’t it obvious?” Chocolove smirked, his men gathering behind him like a small army. They outnumbered Ryu’s gang five to one. “You know I got connections. They tipped me off that you’d be here.”

“We’re claimin’ this place,” Ryu called back, confidence ebbing. “That’s why we here.”

Chocolove scoffed. “Nah, we know the reason you’re here. Pigs are crawlin’ the city lookin’ for you. After that stunt you pulled at the burger place? You gon’ be doin’ some serious time, brother.”

Lyserg tried to catch Pirika’s eyes as they were left ignored momentarily. But she was too busy eyeing the weapons Chocolove’s gang were carrying – baseballs bats, crowbars and homemade shivs. They had obviously come here looking for a fight.

Chocolove swung his own bat loosely in his hands. “I didn’t wanna miss my chance to clock you one last time before you check in to the joint.”

Ryu’s gangs were getting nervous. Even Lyserg could see that they were at a disadvantage.

Apparently Ryu could see it too. “We ain’t gotta do this, brother,” he said, wilting a little.

Chocolove elbowed the lackey who stood beside him and they laughed together loudly. “Hey, I’d heard you were a pussy now, but this is summin’ else! Yo, is it true you got beat up by a kid the other day?”

Ryu stood tall amid the laughter that assailed him. “That ain’t what happened.”

“My man told me what went down. You tried to bust on her brother and that kid he’s shackin’ up with kicked the shit outta you.”

Does he mean Ren? Lyserg puzzled, distracted for a moment from his proximity to danger. He wasn’t sure he could believe that.

When Ryu didn’t retort, Chocolove turned his attention to Pirika. “Hey baby, it’s been a while. Did you forget to tell this guy about us? Does he know you’ve been screwin’ around on him?”

“You gotta a lot of nerve…” Ryu hissed.

“Oh, and I ain’t just talking about you, Ryu,” Chocolove grinned, baring all his fillings as he did so. “This lil’ son of a bitch here.” Lyserg flinched as suddenly all eyes were on him. “Someone got it out for you, my man. I been offered a lotta cash for your head.”

“M-Me?”

“Surprised?” Chocolove asked, non-chalantly. “I dunno what you did but you been marked, kid. Lemme just deal with this joker, then me an’ you gonna have a lil’ chat.”

“Listen up,” Ryu puffed out his chest, suddenly regaining some of his intimidating demeanour. “You can come here preachin’ whatever bullshit you want, but the kid’s mine, got it? I’ll see to him.”

“I’ll cut you a deal,” Chocolove smirked, shouldering his baseball bat. “Last man standing handles the kid. You ain’t the only one hurtin’ over her, you know?”

Ryu growled in frustration. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.” Motioning to his men, Ryu aimed the broken bottle ahead of him and charged straight toward Chocolove. The rival gang, with a unified blood-thirsty shout, raised their weapons and met them head on.

The men holding back Lyserg and Pirika retreated to the sidelines, keeping their grips tight. Lyserg was forced to watch from a frightening proximity the clash of metal against bone, blunt wood against skull. Blood spattered as a shiv was drawn and angered cries rose from both sides. It was impossible to tell who was on whose side as the fight raged on. The clearest sight Lyserg had, in the midst of everything, was Choclove swinging his bat right into Ryu’s ribcage, and the cries of pain that followed. Then the crowd surged and they were lost again, the brawl reaching a feverish peak.

Suddenly men were fighting close to them, backstepping away from the main group while absorbed in combat. A rogue punch flew right into the face of Pirika’s captor. Though he was too steadfast to be injured, it enraged him, and he threw Pirika aside in order to retaliate. She hit the floor a little too hard, and Lyserg thrashed against the men who held him to get to her side. One of them kicked the back of his knees in retaliation, but the moment of the attack made them lose their grip. Lyserg half stumbled, half slithered out of their grasp and, despite the bruise he could already feel forming, rushed to get Pirika to her feet. The man made to pursue him, but Chocolove’s goons took their opportunity to strike. Beaten backwards into the sprawl, Lyserg soon lost sight of them. He grabbed Pirika by the upper arms.

“Now’s our chance, let’s run!” he shouted above the madness, and helped her to her feet.

She nodded, winded and shaken, and kicked off her heels. Barefoot, she pushed off full-pelt towards a shielded alleyway nearby. Lyserg followed close after her, willing her forward, faster, to safety.

A gunshot cracked the air behind them and Pirika screamed. They both ducked whilst running but did not stop. With burning lungs, they reached the mouth of the alley and immediately felt safer. But they kept their pace until they were back in the streets of the city, a world away from the brawl they had left behind.

Without a word of agreement, both of them fell into each other’s arms, exhausted, in the glow of a late-night grocery store. Pirika started crying as the adrenaline left her veins, and Lyserg soon joined her.

When the tears reduced to trembles, Pirika finally managed to ask, voice muffled into his shirt, “What are we gonna do?”

For a moment, he didn’t have an answer, feeling as drained and helpless as she. But holding her close to him, a thought began to form in his mind. “Listen…” he pulled her just far enough away that he could look into her eyes. “I know you’re mad at your brother. But I think we need to go back to them.”

She cast her eyes downwards, resignedly. “I know…”

Lyserg was surprised. He had been expecting a barrage of complaints and arguments from her. “You do?”

“Yeah. Maybe he is tellin’ the truth. I don’t see how else you can explain Ryu getting beaten by that Ren guy.”

“I don’t understand that either.”

“If nothin’ else, at least he could protect us from Ryu an’ Chocolove,” she said, voice quivering with fear again. “Especially if… they said someone’s after you, Lyserg! What would I do if… I couldn’t…”

“Shall we go there? Now? Right now?”

Pirika nodded, the tears running down her porcelain cheeks again. As she stood on to her scratched and dirtied feet, Lyserg squatted before her to lift her on to his back. She clung to him gratefully, and he carried her, both of them practising their apologies all the way back to Horo’s apartment.


	25. Chapter 25

When Marco received the call that told him Luchist would be coming, he decided not to tell Hao. Of course, he was expected to, but Marco privately enjoyed Hao’s displeasure whenever Luchist dropped by uninvited.

Marco was glad of the news. He still hadn’t been sleeping properly, and had had more than a few unsettling experiences with strangers since all his trouble had begun. He often felt that someone was following him, and he was always glancing in the rear-view mirror of his car as he drove. His maid had answered the phone to no one more than a few times, and when Marco took over the receiver, he had only heard anxious, heavy breathing before the line went dead. The night filled him with terror now, and he lay frightfully until morning with his pistol under his pillow.

If Marco was hoping that Luchist would help him, even he knew he was being foolish. But Marco did have a childish reverence for his adopted father, and in his half-maddened state, fuelled by insomnia and paranoia, there seemed something comforting about ‘crying to daddy’.

As Luchist had planned, the Grigori were still in service when he arrived at the Sanctuary. Hao was in the middle of a sermon, and even though he did not stop preaching, the discontent was plain across his face as Luchist entered and slipped into the rear-most pew. From his usual place beside the altar, Marco nodded to him reservedly, though inside he was already eager to talk. Only after the service had ended, and the Grigori had left, did Hao address their visitor.

“Luchist,” he seethed. “What a pleasure.”

Luchist chortled where he sat, arms stretched wide over the back of the pew. “Oh, come on now. Must you be so bitter every time we meet?”

“Perhaps I wouldn’t be, if you stopped showing up unannounced,” Hao said, not so much as looking at Luchist as he busied himself with tidying the altar.

“Hmm, interesting.” His father looked at him then with a devious smile, and Marco could see he was trying to guess his motive for keeping a secret.

For a moment there was silence, save for Hao’s shuffling around. Marco had seen them both play through this a hundred times – a power struggle, small as it was, both of them resisting being the first to speak. Marco bowed his head and waited patiently, knowing better than to try and break the silence himself.

It was Luchist who spoke first, his absurdly deep voice echoing around the bare Sanctuary walls. “I haven’t been sent here, if that’s what has you so anxious.”

“Oh?” Hao sighed impatiently, a feigned interest.

“No,” Luchist continued, pulling himself up from his seat. His huge frame dominated the aisle as he strode down it casually, touching the corner of each pew as he walked. “I came as a friend. Out of concern for you, mostly.”

Hao barked a short, sharp laugh. “I find that hard to believe.”

Luchist shrugged, holding his hands out as though to bare his intentions. “Can you think of an ulterior motive for me?”

“Several,” Hao said, under his breath, before finally turning to face Luchist head-on. “Fine, let’s hear it. Say your piece and get out of here.”

Luchist grinned. “I was just curious as to how long you thought you could continue this way? You are aware you’re running your operation here without your main attraction?”

“That’s all you came to tell me?” Hao’s voice was fiery. Marco had worked with him long enough to know he was already approaching the limits of his frustration. “I’m well aware that Ren’s not here.”

“And yet I notice you haven’t reported that fact to those who should know it.”

“If this is your idea of threatening me…”

“Now, don’t be so brash!” Luchist said, joyfully. “You know I have no power over you, but as your peer, I just want to warn you that the window you have in which to fix this is closing. That is, if you want to do it without having anyone discover your failure.”

“I have it under control,” Hao said, dismissively. He was tired of the conversation, and certainly tired of Luchist.

“Though you may still be an enigma to me, I know my son well enough. The expression on his face tells me that things are _far_ from under control.”

Marco twitched under Hao’s glare as he span to look at him accusingly. Whether his face had betrayed his true emotions, he couldn’t say. But it could just as easily have been another ploy of his father’s.

Luchist was endlessly amused at Hao’s volatile personality, and he laughed to himself for far too long. “Fine, fine. I know when I’m not welcome. I’ll go, and leave you with your big conundrum.”

Hao didn’t respond, but Marco could see his anger boiling underneath the surface. It meant little to him, so he ignored it and instead strode quickly after Luchist as he made to leave the Sanctuary.

“Father,” he started, and Luchist turned to see him. He looked at him expectantly, and he stumbled over his words. He wanted to get out one thing, one simple word: _Wōden_. Then Luchist would understand everything. He would know what was happening and what would need to be done. But his fear was too real, too present, and it left him but a boy before his father.

Luchist placed a hand on his shoulder in way of an acknowledgement. “We’ll speak soon, Marco. Keep doing God’s work,” he said with a hint of humour, before leaving the Sanctuary, and leaving Marco alone with nothing but his all-consuming dread.


	26. Chapter 26

Despite Faust’s initiation test, Anna had made herself visible throughout Ren’s treatments. She too became enthralled in unearthing the people responsible for Ren’s state of being. She sat on the opposite side of the room, scribbling down every detail in the black notebook Horo rarely saw her without.

Added in to the spectators were the newly returned Lyserg and Pirika. They had come back with their tails between their legs after their altercation with Ryu and Chocolove. News had reached them that Ryu had been arrested after the brawl, but not before spending a few days in the hospital first. But Chocolove was still on the prowl for them and as a result, they barely left the house. However, Lyserg still attended his meetings at the Sanctuary regularly, after having agreed to Anna’s plan to act as an agent for them. And although it had taken Ren some time to get used to Lyserg’s presence, he soon became ignorant of his (and everyone else’s) attendance at his sessions with Faust.

They were gathered around in the living room as they usually did, Faust in the high-backed single chair, notes in hand; Ren nestled neatly in the middle of the rickety old sofa; the rest of them dotted around the small room sat on armrests and floor space wherever there was room.

Today, Faust was focused on the colour of purple. While Ren was in a mild hypnotic state, he started by describing to Ren a field of lavender, set on a background of stormy purple skies. When this elicited no reaction from his patient, Faust moved on seamlessly, beginning the description of his next scenario. He tried to work in variations of the colour names as he described a jar of candy being shared by a group of children. He spoke of violet lollipops, sweet lilacs, and mauve bonbons.

Just as Faust was about to move on, Ren began to stir, and his audience held their breath as an alter began to surface. Horo made a mental note of where the restraints lay close by, though he loathed having to use them. The change that came over Ren was almost imperceptible except to those who knew him well. His eyes acquired a far-off sheen and he appeared almost disinterested in his surroundings. Horo fought to remember where he had seen that expression before.

“Who am I speaking to?”

Ren’s answer began with a soft purr, and Horo remembered with a jolt. “Tiger.”

Horo felt the sweat spring up on his brow, and glanced around to see if the others had noticed. Thankfully, they all seemed engrossed with Ren. Or Tiger.

“Tiger. I’m Dr Faust. I’m working with Ren to help him reintegrate. Do you understand what that means?”

“Yes, I know you,” Tiger cooed, his eyes sultry. “You’ve been causing quite a fuss around here.”

“I’m just doing what’s best for Ren.”

Tiger chuckled softly. “You may think that. But there are some things Ren is better off not remembering.”

“I’m willing to guess that includes the memories you hold for him?”

“Hmm… I wouldn’t go so far as to say that mine are the worst, but they’re certainly not the type of story you’d read with your breakfast in the morning.”

“Perhaps if you were to share them with us, we would be able to decide together whether or not it’s something that Ren needs to know?”

“You must think a lot of yourself, Dr Faust, to think you can judge that better than we can,” Tiger smiled slyly. “After all, we a _re_ him.”

Faust wasn’t deterred by Tiger’s question-dodging. “Do you know what the colour purple relates to?”

“Oh yes,” Tiger’s smile grew wider. “I remember that one.”

Faust remained silent, his stern gaze fixed on Tiger, who stared back unblinkingly.

“She was Ren’s – _our_ – sister, Jun,” Tiger said, after a pause, an amused look on his face.

“Did you ever have any interaction with Jun?”

“Oh I had _plenty_ of interaction with Jun. A feisty thing, she was.”

Faust met him with an icy glare once more. He paused, then said, “Tiger, what is your function?”

Tiger chuckled again, quiet and harsh. “You mean you can’t tell? I’m the part of Ren that was made to pleasure. It doesn’t matter who, or where, or _how._ Not even our own sister was out of bounds.”

The room was silent save for the scribbling of Anna’s pen across the pages of her notebook. Lyserg was blushing furiously and Horo found he couldn’t even look at Pirika.

“You were made to perform sexual acts with Jun?”

“’ _Made’_ is such a funny word. It rather implies I didn’t enjoy it.”

“And did you?”

“What’s not to enjoy about the complete domination of the human flesh? Especially one so young as her. I still recall her tender skin crawling beneath me, desperate to escape. The screams and the sobs as my fingers raked pale flesh. Our father watching the process throughout, of course.”

Horo felt sick to his stomach. These were the same hands that had touched him, the same person who had lay with him. Yet it had also been Ren. But still Tiger. In the same way he could not sort between his memories of Ren and his dangerous alter that night, he found his feelings towards the two similarly confused, a swirling mix of disgust and pleasure.

“Were you ever called upon for the benefit of Yuan and his associates?”

“Sweetie, I’ve been here to please countless desperate, hungry people. Men, women, older, younger, every shape and size, each of them with their own individual needs and turn-ons. I have twenty personalities here I could use at any time to help fulfil your darkest desires.”  Tiger edged forward to the end of the sofa as he spoke, keeping his dark eyes locked on Faust the whole time. “So, what’ll it be, doc? You want domination? Someone to play your nurse?” Tiger slipped to his knees in front of Faust’s chair, smiling wildly. “An abused little altar boy? Ever wanted to know what it’s like to nail a corpse?”

“Enough!” Faust barked, brushing away the hand Tiger had slipped on to his knee. Tiger didn’t so much as flinch. “You know very well we’re not here for that. And your games are not appreciated here.”

“Oh? That’s funny…” In one slow, deliberate motion, Tiger turned his eyes towards Horo, for the first time since he had awakened. “That one over there seemed to enjoy my games very much, a few nights ago.”

Horo felt the eyes of everyone in the room fall upon him, especially Faust’s, whose stare felt like daggers. He didn’t even have time to struggle before Faust had stormed his way across the room and was upon him, grabbing his collar tight in his fist.

“You did _what_?” Faust demanded, right into Horo’s paling face.

“You heard me, doc,” Tiger called out from his place on the floor. “We had some fun together, he and I. Not as rough as I might have liked, but hey, it turns out the guy likes a bit of comfort sex when he’s feeling blue.”

Without turning around, Faust raised a finger to hush Tiger. “Be quiet!” He snapped. “Care to explain yourself?”

“I-It was Ren, he-“

“You’re really going to try and blame this on Ren? You think he has _any_ idea what he’s doing?” Faust’s pale lips shot spittle into his eyes as he spoke but Horo dared not flinch away. “This was an abuse of trust by you. You have responsibility for the boy, and you took advantage of that!”

“Horo… did you really…?” He heard Pirika’s voice somewhere nearby, and all at once he felt mortified.

“I was with Ren…” Horo began again, his voice atremble. “I was down, he came to me. We got… close. He asked me to call for Tiger. He asked me! I didn’t know what kind of a monster he was!”

“Fortunately for you, not monster enough,” Faust growled. He released his grip on Horo’s shirt, letting his feet touch the floor once more. The doctor was visibly shaking. In all the times Horo had made him angry – and there had been a great number of times – he had never seen Faust this furious. “I don’t think you have the _faintest_ idea what’s happening in this young man’s head right now. He’s reintegrating. It’s about the same in scale as having your limbs butchered and surgically reattached with a blunt needle. I also doubt you understand how suggestible this makes him. I think it’s high time you learned.

“Sit down,” Faust spat, and Horo did so. Horo noticed he still held the pendulum he used to get Ren into a hypnotic state. He was sure his eyes betrayed how frightened he was, but the doctor showed no signs of stopping. As Faust pulled up his chair in front of him, Horo got a clear glimpse of Tiger watching him intently, wearing a satisfied smile. He hardly had chance to turn away in shame before Faust held the pendulum in front of his eyes and he had no choice but to look at its obsidian surface. Faust then started to talk to him in low, dulcet tones, repeating the same mantra Horo had heard him run over with Ren countless times.

The rhythmic sounds of Faust’s words were hard to ignore – knowing them so well only helped to serve their hypnotic purpose. Being urged to listen to Faust’s voice, concentrate on the swinging pendulum, emptying his mind…

To his surprise, he didn’t feel his consciousness slipping away from him, the way he would have imagined hypnosis to feel. He found himself completely locked in his own body, no floating feeling to accompany it. Just a sort of blurring round the edges. Suddenly he was very aware of Faust and his iron grip on the pendulum. Everything else felt far away, just a little out of his reach.  The blank emptiness he began to feel, like a sheet of white paper waiting for an artist’s influence, made Faust’s first command feel like a relief. He was desperate for a focus, something to grab on to. When Faust told him to stand, he did so willingly, almost with enthusiasm. Faust moved away from him then, but Horo’s connection with him did not cease. He had a sense that he would be aware of Faust’s slightest movement even if he left the room entirely. He noticed, without feeling, that all eyes were on him.

“Spin around, three times,” Faust instructed.

Horo began to twirl on the spot, heedless of anything that surrounded him. He stopped abruptly when he finished the third spin, no hints of counting in his mind at all.

“Clap your hands, twenty times.”

Horo complied eagerly, somehow knowing exactly when to start and stop.

“You see how easily someone in a suggestible position obeys orders,” Faust said, somewhere to his right. “Doubtless you even feel glad of my instructions, something to occupy the empty void that is currently your mind. This is just a small taste of how Ren feels, on a day to day basis. He is hyperconscious and willing to comply.”

Horo could hear what Faust was saying, but the vast majority of him didn’t seem to understand, or even care. But he could feel somewhere in the back of his mind his conscious self, dying with self-reproach.

“There are no limits to which you won’t go for me in this state,” Faust continued. “Take off your shirt.”

Inner-Horo stifled a sob, but not before his shirt was up and over his head, discarded on the ground. His hands moved faster than his mind could seem to process.

“Now your jeans.”

The button was popped open by his very own fingers, and the clothes crumpled to the floor beneath him. Anna’s eyes were staring at his naked torso intensely, a glint of amusement in her eyes. He had no choice but to stare back at her, eyes fixed dead ahead. All he wanted to do was turn and flee from the room, from the building, run from the city entirely if he could. And yet his feet were firmly rooted to the floor, as though Faust had buried them there himself. He heard Faust’s next instruction with an alien disinterest.

“Take off your underwear.”

From a distant corner of his vision, he saw Pirika turn her head to bury it in Lyserg’s chest as Horo slipped his underwear down past his hips, internally screaming at himself to stop. Faust’s eyes knew no embarrassment as he kept that fury-filled gaze fixed intently upon him.

Suddenly, Faust muttered a word that Horo did not catch and the world came rushing back into his mind. It sounded like a thousand cars screeching to a halt all at once, and was as bright and multi-coloured as being surrounded by a million blaring TV sets. All at once, he crumpled to the floor as Faust’s connection broke and he came jarringly back to his senses. His hands grappled desperately in the pile of clothes beneath him as the world still wheeled and screamed. As he fought to cover up his nakedness, he somehow managed to hear Tiger’s disconcerting laughter and the sound of the door slamming as Faust left the apartment completely.

\--

“Now, y’know… I don’t usually accept jobs like this. But I gotta say, you’ve intrigued me.”

Chocolove examined the man before him carefully. He only knew one thing about him: his name was Luchist Lasso. He had met him once before, and he had to hand it to the guy – he had balls. It was rare for an employer to want to meet face-to-face, and that was something Chocolove usually appreciated, as it showed his reputation far preceded him. But this guy? For a suit, he had guts, and Chocolove was keen to show him the same respect in return. He had even left the others waiting outside the fancy building in which they met. Alai had been pissed about it, sure, but in the end, it was Chocolove that Luchist wanted to meet.

Luchist smirked at him, a dark and heavy expression. “In all honesty, I’m half-wondering if you are even capable of such a task. After all, I’m still waiting for results on your last assignment.”

Chocolove waved him off coolly. “Yeah, yeah. I ain’t forgotten. You still want the green-haired kid on a platter. I’m workin’ on it.”

“I’d best hope you are. There _will_ be repercussions for you, should you not deliver.”

Chocolove heard well the hostile tone in Luchist’s voice, and he tensed. At first he was outraged that someone would be threatening _him_ , the king of this city, right to his face. But just by glancing around Luchist’s plush office, he could see the money and resources this guy had. He was powerful, and likely had powerful connections. The look in his eyes said that he has seen some twisted shit, and had no doubt instigated some of it himself. There weren’t many things that Chocolove was scared of, but Luchist – he was one of those things.

He hadn’t realised the kid was so important, but he wasn’t going to let that little shit be the cause of him losing Luchist’s respect. “You’ll have him before the week’s out. Let’s talk about this new deal.”

Luchist reclined in his chair, tapping his fingers together amusedly. “The man you’re working for at the moment. This ‘drug lord’.”

“Yeah?” Chocolove didn’t question how Luchist knew about his contact, but there was no point denying it. Luchist obviously had his sources.

“We need him… disciplined.”

“What would you get from doin’ that?”

Luchist frowned then, and Chocolove knew he had asked the wrong question. That wasn’t for him to know. He shook his hands in front of him dismissively. “I mean… y’know I never seen this guy, right? Not in person. Hell, I don’t even know his real name.”

Luchist slid an envelope across the desk, a wry smile on his face. “This should tell you all you need to know.”

Chocolove glanced between Luchist and the envelope without reaching for it. “Alright, so – say that’s enough for me to find him. What’s this gonna get me?”

“You know I can pay you. Handsomely, might I add. I’m envisioning a burglary, make it look like something went wrong.”

“Now hold up a sec,” Chocolove said. He knew his worth. He knew the worth of his men. He wasn’t about to be short-changed, not even by the likes of Luchist. “You realise how heavy this is startin’ to sound. If me an’ my boys get caught, we’ll be doin’ serious time, all on account of your ‘little job’. I think we need to lay out some terms here.”

Luchist shrugged, and produced a pile of bills from his desk drawer. They were already held together by a rubber-band, pre-counted, so large even Luchist’s enormous hands couldn’t close around the stack. He slid them across the desk, to place them with finality on top of the envelope. “Expect the same again once the job is completed.”

Chocolove’s dark eyes widened as he looked. That was some serious scratch. He snarled a greedy smile and snatched the money and the envelope from the desk.

“Alright. I’m in.”


	27. Chapter 27

“Now Mr Douglas, make sure you keep it elevated, and apply the warm compress when you get home,” Eliza smiled into the taxi. It was late, and the clinic had officially been closed for some time, but they had gotten a call on their emergency line when once of their elderly patients, Mr Douglas, had had a nasty fall.

His wife had helped him to the surgery at Faust’s insistence, and they had treated his broken leg there and then. Then the Fausts put Mr and Mrs Douglas into the taxi, insisting on paying the fare.

Mr Douglas thanked them profusely as Eliza closed the door and the taxi sped away. She sighed, exhausted. “I do wish we had the funds to buy an ambulance. I hate sending vulnerable patients home like this.”

Faust put his hands upon her shoulders. “I know, my sweet. But he’ll be fine. One day we’ll have a fleet of ambulances, and we can take care of everyone who needs us, properly.”

Eliza smiled, burying her face into his chest. “I hope so.” Her stomach grumbled quite obviously. “Oh dear… I’m sure the dinner you cooked has gone cold by now.”

“Don’t fret, I can easily cook something else. I have a speciality in grilled cheese, I hope you know.”

Eliza laughed. “You must be exhausted, my love,” she said, even as she struggled to keep her eyes open. “Let’s get you inside.”

She took him by the hand and led him back through the glass doors of the clinic. He gushed with gratitude for this marvellous woman. When both of them were dead on their feet, interrupted from their peaceful evening, and hadn’t had time to eat since breakfast, she was concerned only with him. She paid no regard to herself, walking like a zombie, heavy-lidded and drained of all energy. No, she only cared about his well-being. This was why she was a fantastic nurse.

As they entered, their dog Frankensteiny was there to greet them. He was a silly, aging Labrador, so named for Eliza’s love of old black-and-white horror movies. He idolized Eliza and the patients, in turn, adored him. Eliza ruffled his ears with gentle fingers and the dog licked her face. Faust smiled as he watched them – his whole world, right here in this building.

He had started the clinic when he was twenty-five, fresh out of medical school and only sure of one thing: he must help people. He had saved tirelessly throughout his education, taking any job he could to produce the extra income he needed to achieve his dream. The other students in his class had seen him as a square. He never joined them for parties or frivolities. He never so much as spoke to a girl. When he graduated, there was no one there to celebrate with. While the others went out drinking, he returned to his tiny one-room apartment and began to pack up his things the very same day.

By the end of the next day, he had found a small property on a corner of a quiet street that was available for rent – cheap, because of the extensive work that needed doing to it. No tenant was going to take the place in the state it was in.

No one except Johann Faust. That same evening, he transferred his small bag of belongings into the apartment above the shop, picked up a hammer, and began to work. It took him a month of gruelling labour. He never called in a professional, he couldn’t waste his money on anything other than equipment. He plastered, painted, sanded, tiled and varnished. He didn’t even turn his attention to his own lodgings until much later, choosing instead to sleep on a bare wooden floor in the musty apartment, with no cooking appliances to speak of. He found he was unable to care too much about his comfort when he was as exhausted as he was, spending all day at gruelling manual labour that he had never been trained for. He worked so hard that he forgot to eat. His body ached, his muscles burned, and his brain was constantly crunching numbers. When his head touched that hard floor at night, he did not struggle to sleep.

One day, he arose, tools already clutched in each hand, to discover that his work was finally done. He dropped the tools gratefully and walked right out into the street to begin his purchases.

He bought desks, he bought chairs. He bought surgical instruments, beds and medicines. His money dwindled, but he could not have been more at peace. Within a week, his clinic was open, but business was slow. Without a reputation, very few people were willing to trust him with their bodies, their lives. He spent most of his days sat at his own reception desk, drumming his pen on the wood and wondering how he was ever going to afford his next month’s rent. It was one of these lonely days when his future changed.

He was lost in a reverie of figures and facts, when a middle-aged man burst through his doors. “Please! Are you a doctor?”

Faust stood calmly and nodded.

“My daughter… she ran into the road. Oh my god, she was hit! A car, it just… she’s…”

“Where is she?” Faust asked resolutely.

“O-Outside,” the man stammered, pulling at his own hair in panic.

Faust grabbed his bag from his office and followed the man half-way down the street. There was a small gathering of people, and a car parked haphazardly across the width of the street, engine still blaring. In the centre of the gathering was a small girl, maybe five or six years old, blonde hair splayed everywhere, and a pool of blood forming beneath her head and twisted limbs. Her mother clutched at the girl, crying out hysterically.

Faust elbowed his way into the crowd without hesitation. At the sight of his white coat and air of authority, the people watching parted without question.

“Madam, you need to let go,” he instructed quietly to the distraught mother.

“My baby! Oh god, please help her!” she begged him.

“I’m going to do my best, but I need you to step away, right now.”

The mother complied, reluctantly letting go of her child’s hand. Faust brushed in immediately, checking the girl’s pulse. She was alive, but barely. Right there in the street, with that small crowd watching, he set about saving that little girl’s life. He worked quickly and without distraction, ignoring the horrified whispering of onlookers, the devastated cries of the mother, and the eventual fight that broke out between the father and the driver of the car.

By the time the ambulance arrived, the girl was breathing normally, though still unconscious. Her wounds were bandaged, all external bleeding had stopped. Faust insisted on riding in the ambulance with her so that he might place her in the hands of the hospital doctors himself.

The girl lived, of course, though only due to Faust’s involvement. He never received any thanks from the parents. Not that he expected that. His reward came soon enough in the form of an influx of patients to the small clinic. The story of the little girl had been published in the local newspapers and his bravery was now general knowledge. The paper listed his surgery’s name and address, and people came. Suddenly, he had more business than he could handle.

He put out an advertisement for a nurse to come and join him in the clinic. He felt it was a necessity, not something he really desired. He hated letting go of his handle on things. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t have many applicants. Anyone who would have taken their time and spent thousands on training to be a nurse wanted to work in a hospital, or at least under an experienced doctor in a reputable surgery.

Eliza had been the first person he’d seen for the job – young, beautiful and hopeful. She wanted to work somewhere small, she told him, so she could get to know the patients better.

As soon as she had left the clinic, Faust had torn down his advertisements and called the other candidates to let them know the bad news. He tried to convince himself he had hired her entirely for her flawless bedside manner and not her unquestionable beauty, but he knew the latter had made something of a contribution.

He was immediately and completely besotted with her, though he had no way to say it. After countless gazes held too long, and months of tense moments in enclosed spaces, it had eventually taken Eliza to approach him first. And oh, how glad he was that she had. At first, Faust had his concerns about how their professional relationship would suffer because of their involvement together. However, it had seemed to do nothing but make them stronger as a team. They moved in an emergency like they knew each other’s thoughts, communicating mostly without words to complete their work. She was his light, his greatest ally and the only person who shared his very own soul. The day that they had married, a dusky day in autumn, he had finally felt himself complete.

He looked at her now, her beauty never fading, and smiled his thin smile. She caught him staring and beamed back over her shoulder, and they didn’t need to say a thing.

That night, when they curled up together in the sheets, Frankensteiny at the foot of their bed, he lamented their decision to have never had children. Saving lives came first with them. It always had. But Faust was beginning to feel like, for once, perhaps they should be a little bit selfish. Hadn’t they paid their dues? Hadn’t they given their lives to others enough? They could close the surgery part time, or even hire some extra help. Things would work out, and the children wouldn’t be young forever. He resolved to talk to her about it in the morning.

He pressed his face into her sleeping back and pictured the faces that their three children would have. Shining rays of light, just like their mother…

 

He must have drifted off, because the crash he heard woke him suddenly. Instinctively, he looked for Frankensteiny, as he had a habit of wandering in the night and knocking things over. But the dog was still a dark mound at the end of the bed, though his head was raised and ears were pricked up warily.

More sounds came. Downstairs?

Eliza shuffled next to him. “What’s wrong?” she asked, lightly touching his arm.

“Wait here,” Faust instructed, swinging himself out of bed. Frankensteiny leapt up to follow at his heel.

“Johann, what’s the matter?” He sensed the fear in her voice.

“I thought I heard something, I’m just going to check. Wait here.”

The apartment was still as he slipped out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him. But downstairs he could still hear a cacophony of sounds, like an elephant was rampaging in the clinic. He heard things being pulled from the shelves and tossed down on to the floor. The cash register being heaved off the desk. Doors being opened. Someone climbing the stairs.

Faust seized the first thing he could reach – a table lamp. He tore the cord from its base with the force of his motion and stood squarely behind the door, impromptu weapon raised.

Whoever was coming in was being more cautious than those downstairs. The intruder opened the door slowly, just a crack, and peeked his long nose inside.

Faust steadied his breathing like he did when he was going in for surgery. The face, masked of course, appeared right in front of him, followed by the rest of the invader. The door leaned back into him as the man entered, and Faust stood himself as straight as he could against the wall.

He waited until the man had come completely inside. Then he grabbed the door handle and slammed the door shut. The intruder leapt and wheeled around. Faust saw the gun he was holding.

But Faust still had the height advantage. He swooped in as quickly as he could, swinging the lamp down in an arc. It would have connected with the stranger’s head, but his aim was compromised. As he drew back his arm to strike, the gun in the stranger’s hand fired once, twice. Pain exploded in his kneecap as the bullets lodged themselves deep in his left leg.

Faust stumbled to the floor, an involuntary cry of pain escaping him.

Even beneath his balaclava, Faust had the sense that he knew the stranger from somewhere – another time, another life. His masked lips twisted into a smile. “Sorry, boss.” He took aim again and fired two shots into Faust’s other knee. Faust felt like both limbs had gone completely stiff. Or had he just lost the feeling in them? He pictured the skin bursting and the muscle tearing as pain robbed him of his logic. He could picture the wounds he had suffered in graphic detail – the curse of his doctorate, he thought inwardly.

But he didn’t have much time to dwell on it. The man was heading for the bedroom. Where Eliza was.

Faust shouted out, a primal sound that contained no intelligible words. He reached out, but he couldn’t move, grounded by his injuries.

But Frankensteiny was there in a flash. The Labrador pounced in front of the door, right in the stranger’s path. He raised his haunches, growled and bore his incisors. The snarl on his kind face transformed him into another creature completely.

The man made a noise that sounded like a laugh. He swung back his leg and kicked Frankensteiny square in the jaw. The dog yelped, but he did not yield. He lashed out and clamped his teeth around the man’s leg before he could pull it away. Frankensteiny shook his head like he was killing prey and the man yelled out.

Faust’s world turned to slow motion as the gun fired again. Frankensteiny was blown back into in a bloody heap in front of the door.

But the worst was yet to come. At the sound of that gunshot, Eliza ran hurriedly to the door. She swung it open, tears of distress running down her pale cheeks, long bed-messed hair flying all about.

She didn’t see the bullet coming. Nor did she have time to react. The intruder fired instinctively, a kill shot. It hit her, point blank, in the forehead.

Faust’s slow motion continued, as he watched her eyes drain of life, from top to bottom, like it was disappearing right down to her toes. She wavered on her feet, blood pooling at the bridge of her nose, before her body gave way and down she went. Down, down, her head hitting the floor hard.

Brain, cartilage, bone, all destroyed, displayed grotesquely over their bedroom door, floor, walls…

It was too much. That was Eliza’s brain. He shouldn’t be able to see her _brain._ Her head was leaking. His dog was dead. His knees were on fire. Suddenly, that felt like nothing.

He was up on his feet and charging towards his attacker before the murderous smile had faded from his masked face. His eyes were reduced to grisly voids before his body even hit the floor.


	28. Chapter 28

The tension in the air had been palpable. Faust’s humiliation of Horo had created varying degrees of awkwardness between them all. Pirika and Lyserg had taken to hiding in Pirika’s room for almost all hours of the day, and avoided Horo whenever they needed to venture out into the small space they all occupied. Even Anna had stopped visiting over the last few days, and Faust had not called at all.

Horo was somewhat glad of their avoidance, as it saved him from their judging looks, their ill-disguised scathing comments. However, their sudden absence left him deep in the one silence he feared the most: the silence between him and Ren.

It was this silence that was the most inescapable, for despite all that had happened, Horo was still Ren’s guardian, and there were still tasks they needed to undertake together. Both of them avoided the subject, an unspoken agreement, as they carried on their overlapping daily lives. When their food supply began to dwindle, Horo was glad of an excuse to escape the stagnant air of the apartment, even if only for a short while. They made the journey to the store in uneasy silence, Ren looking everywhere but at him.

On the return home, Horo carried the bags as Ren shuffled alongside side him, now seeming considerably more sullen. Ren closed the gap between them neatly, and cleared his throat softly. Not for the first time, Horo lamented the absence of any alcohol in his shopping haul, as he felt the air between them pull tighter.

“Horo… about the other day…” The tension snapped. Ren’s quiet words were like a firecracker in the No-Man’s Land between them.

Horo winced turning his face away so that Ren wouldn’t see his flushing cheeks. He tried to sound nonchalant. “Yeah?”

“Well… I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Horo mulled over his words for a few moments before replying. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I can’t help but feel like it was. I feel sorry for what Tiger did. And what he made Faust do. I’m sorry for that.”

He paused. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But I do,” Ren continued. “It was my fault Tiger came out that night. I asked you to. And I know Faust says that I didn’t willingly do that but I _did,_ Horo. And I hope you know that.”

Horo stopped walking then, feeling the embarrassment and the shame wash over him anew as the issue was finally voiced. He found himself without a reply.

Ren continued instead. “What happened, I _wanted_ it to happen. I don’t know much about myself, but I know that much. But I, me, _Ren_ , I don’t know much about that kind of thing, and I was scared, and I knew Tiger would help me. That’s why I asked you to call him. _I_ wanted to be there for you Horo, but I couldn’t. But I hope, maybe, if you’re not mad… I’ll get to do those things with you, someday. Me, not him.”

Horo softened then. He brushed Ren gently off the sidewalk and on to the step of a building nearby. Sitting them both down, he gathered his thoughts.

“Ren, I want that too. But I don’t want to do anything that will cause problems with your treatment. I want you to get better because I… well, I care about you. Maybe one day after you’ve reintegrated and Faust is happy with your progress, we can think about, you know, us.”

“I’d like that.”

“There’s something else…”

“Tell me.”

“I don’t want to be your Handler. I don’t want any obligation from your programming being the reason you choose to stick around me.”

“I understand,” Ren nodded, carefully. “It might have been that way for me at first. But when it comes down to it, my programming doesn’t rule my heart.”

Horo smiled, taking a glance at Ren’s gentle profile. His petit nose, overwhelming eyes, soft jawline – all the features he knew so well, and treasured like no other. “I’ve been an idiot Ren, and I hope you can forgive me. I’m going to be here to help you through all this, no matter what. We’re going to make you _you_ again.”

Ren smiled then, obviously touched. “Thank you, Horokeu.” Quickly, yet shyly, he leant over and placed a small peck on Horo’s cheek. “But I think I’m already getting there.”

As Ren walked away, Horo felt that he was really seeing the young man for the first time, then. The kiss still stung sweetly on his skin.

Horo caught up alongside him at the entrance to their building. He felt lighter now, and he could tell from the way Ren smiled at him as they climbed the stairs that he was feeling the relief just the same. The ease between them quickly returned: their small talk, their gentle teasing, those stolen glances – they all came back as simply as they were gone. By the time they reached the sixth floor, it was though nothing had happened.

Horo had fallen back into his old habit of venting aloud to Ren as he struggled between juggling the bags and opening the door. “I bought Pirika some things as a peace offering, hopefully that will get her out of her room at least. And I guess I should call Faust too…”

“I don’t think that will help,” Anna’s voice called out to him, from inside the apartment. Her presence there didn’t surprise him – he had given her a set of keys weeks ago – but her tone of voice did. Behind her, Lyserg and Pirika were sat on the sofa. Lyserg had his arm around Pirika, and her mascara was running down her cheeks. Horo dropped the bags to floor weakly, looking to Anna for answers. He braced himself against the doorframe for the bad news he knew was coming.

“The hospital just called,” she said. “There was a break-in at the clinic. Faust’s disappeared, and Eliza died at the scene. They thought you’d want to know.”

\--

The next few weeks were uncomfortably familiar to Horo. Just the same as when his parents had died, the responsibility of organising Eliza’s funeral had fallen to him. It seemed there was no member of her immediate family either alive or willing to take care of such things, and though he did not relish the job, he undertook it without complaint. He owed a lot to her, and he would not let her be buried without the respect she deserved.

The day of the funeral was suitably dusky and grey. Horo had advertised the date and time as publicly as he could, but Faust had not resurfaced. Nevertheless, the church was far from empty, the pews filled instead with the people whose lives Eliza had touched – her patients, people she had helped to save, and their grateful families. The reality of their grief was grounding for Horo, who had not shed a tear since her death. Even sat among the sorrowful faces, all singing solemnly about God’s mercy, he could not join their tears. Even Ren, sat beside him, alternating between himself and Micah, was weeping freely, as though no one else could see him. All Horo could do, even as he shouldered Eliza’s coffin out into the dreary graveyard, was wonder where the hell Anna had gotten to.

After the way she had so plainly broken the news to him, he expected her to at least be around for the aftermath as he came to terms with it. But the way she saw it, she had done him a kindness by telling him simply, without any embellishments or disguising of the facts. She told him the details of Eliza’s death and Faust’s hospitalization as though she was reeling off a shopping list. She talked about Faust’s escape from a psychiatric ward and his confinement to a wheelchair like it was something she had just read in the local newspaper. As she spoke, it was all he could do not to imagine Eliza’s skull shattered into bloody pieces across their bedroom floor, or Faust’s legs obliterated and grisly as he was strapped to a wheelchair, his mind quickly escaping him. As she had piled this information on to his already sagging shoulders, Horo felt it drive him down into a pit of numbness. There, he had resided, all throughout this terrible process.

When the slim wooden box had been lowered into the ground, Horo sat cross-legged on top of the freshly turned earth, willing himself to feel something. Ren sat loyally at his side, shoulder just brushing his. They sat in silence, reading and rereading Eliza’s gravestone, and Horo was glad for his company. From his suit pocket, Horo found out the small piece of wood and carving knife he had brought with him, and began to whittle. Ren watched him with interest.

As the sun began to set, a grey sphere in the dull sky, he found a cross in his tired hands. As he put the last finishing touches to the plain wood surface, he heard someone approach from behind them.

“Hey. I thought I’d find you here.”

Horo didn’t turn. “Nice of you to show up.”

He felt Anna sit down behind them, her heavy satchel hitting the floor just after. “How did it go?”

“Devastating. Life-shattering. You’d know if you were here,” Horo said with annoyance, chipping at the wood a little too roughly and sending a flake flying past the headstone.

“I’ve been doing something important,” she answered, nonchalantly.

“More important than saying goodbye to Eliza?”

Anna sighed. He heard the metal clasps of her bag unfasten as she pulled something out. “I went to Faust’s apartment.”

He met her gaze. She was dressed head to toe in black, dark shades covering her eyes. “The clinic?” he said with surprise. “It’s been sealed off since… how did you-?”

“I have my connections,” she said, briskly. “I wanted to get in there before anything valuable was removed.”

“Did you find something?” came Ren’s quiet question.

“Of course,” Anna raised her eyebrows cockily. “At least, I think so.” She placed a thick, leather-bound journal into Horo’s hands.

“What is it?” He asked, turning the book over to examine both sides.

“It looks like a memoir. But I can’t read it. Doctor’s handwriting. I was hoping you would be able to make it out.”

Horo flicked open the pages. He had seen Faust’s penmanship a thousand times and the words were mostly clear to him. He struggled over some of the longer, flowing sentences but yes, he could read it.

“Can you read it aloud?” Anna asked, taking her sunglasses off and hooking her hands under her bent knees to listen.

Horo coughed awkwardly, both Ren and Anna awaiting the tale patiently. He dived into the first sentence, stuttering at first, before he relaxed and began to hear Faust’s own voice in place of his own.

> _My dear friends, this note is for you. I hope that one day this can offer you some closure in the wake of the destruction that I have no doubt caused. This is my story, and I can only hope it will suffice in lieu of an apology from the man you knew as Johann Faust._
> 
> _I was born in Stadt-Bremerhaven, thirty-nine years ago to the day. A trade seaport in the ‘free city’ state of Bremen. As a boy, I was infatuated with the tall ships that were always moored at the dock. I particularly like the military ships, and would often leave home for hours on end just to sit and stare at them. I lived only with my papa. I was told my mother had died while giving birth to me, and my father often blamed me for it. I was never left with a picture of her._
> 
> _My father was a military man, and decorated with any honour to be mentioned. We never saw eye to eye. I always presumed this was due to the circumstances surrounding my mother’s death. I see now that his behaviour was all part of preparing me for what was to come later._

Horo looked up from the book. “What does he mean?”

“Keep reading,” Anna insisted. He hadn’t seen her take out her notebook, but it was open and resting on her knees. Her page was already dotted with scribbles.

He took a deep breath and carried on.

> _During my early years, I was a very nervous boy, and usually spoke with a stammer. My father found this to be an embarrassment, and made it a daily practice to try and beat the habit out of me. We would often spend hours locked in his study, as I was made to stand in front of him and read pages of various lengthy textbooks. I was not permitted to leave until I had finished one page of the tiny text. It could take me anywhere up to two hours to do so on my worst days, as I tripped over every word and fought back my tears of frustration._
> 
> _Sometimes I choked and couldn’t continue, and he would clip me sharply around the ear until I found my voice again. My fear of his violence would only cause me to stammer more, and the whole ugly process would begin anew._
> 
> _I was assured on a daily basis that I was nothing but a disappointment to my father; not just because of my speaking difficulties, but also due to my intellectual failings. This was another fact papa was keen to rectify._
> 
> _He had a closet in his bedroom that was insufferable when the door was closed. The closeness of the door to the frame meant that no air escaped, no lights invaded, and no screams were heard. I have no doubt that the closet was built specifically for that purpose. My father would release a gas canister into the tiny space on the shelf far above my head and lock the door, leaving me to inhale the awful gas at his mercy. Looking back at it now, I believe it was pure oxygen that I was breathing, higher than any concentration found in the air – the result of which was a dizzying sense of disorientation for me. But it also made me hyper alert and increased my concentration ten-fold. After sometimes hours, he would drag me from the closet by my hair, half-dazed, and used my state of higher awareness to begin drilling me with vast amounts of knowledge. Text books, tape recordings, anything he could use to push my brain further was an option._

“This is awful,” Horo couldn’t help but interrupt himself. He looked at Ren. His eyes were shimmering with a tragic empathy. “Let me skip some of this…”

> _At first I thought my father’s treatment of me was entirely for my own sake, that he was simply trying to correct my shortcomings. It was when I was seven that I was introduced to my father’s friends and I began to realise that there was a bigger plan for me. The men were colleagues of my father’s, and I loved them because they often took me on board the huge ships that I had admired so much. From that day onwards, I spent much of my time in the company of strangers, and I was almost glad for it, with my father now barely present in my life at all._
> 
> _Though I only have good memories of my time spent there, I know without a doubt that this was when my real torture began. That the men robbed me of any ill feeling towards them, I am almost sure._
> 
> _I remember clearly being subjected to electric shock treatment, the sort that is today used for treating mood disorders and the like. Though these machines were, in appearance, the same as those in general use today, their electrical output was far greater. For hours I was subjected to these machines, strapped tightly down and forced to endure voltages that humans were never meant to be able to withstand. The output was gradually increased with each session so that I was finally able to handle the higher capacity shocks. I associate that pain with the sense of euphoria that used to wash over me then._
> 
> _The men would talk to me softly, though their words rarely remained in my memory. When they released me from the machines, I would fall to the floor, shaking miserably but my mind euphoric and clear, as though angels were singing chorus into my ears. The men would hand me blunt instruments, whispering more cryptic words. At first I was made to hurt myself with the weapons. That was easy. Later on, they wanted me to hurt other living creatures. That was easier still._
> 
> _I began with small animals – mice, grass snakes and so on. My weapons to destroy them ranged from mallets to knives to surgical instruments. Gradually the animals got larger and hurting them became more of a challenge. Usually they were the sort of animal a human would naturally feel protective over – a puppy, a kitten, a newborn lamb, for example. They had instructed me only to kill the creatures, but when I showed an interest in dissecting the animals to examine the gore inside – usually while the creature was still alive – the men stepped back and observed. A little boy, cross-legged on the floor, spattered with blood, and fingers deep inside the skull of a dachshund he had just nailed to the floor with a hammer, nothing but an expression of violent wonder on his face._
> 
> _My captors were trying to make me feel comfortable with the notion of destroying a living thing, no matter how helpless or innocent. This was to be the backdrop for my programming function: a Destroyer._

“Programming?” Anna breathed into the silence that fell upon them all. “Faust was like Ren?”

Horo read the last two lines over and over again in his head. Still they sounded like fiction. “I can’t believe it… Ren did you know?”

Ren’s eyes were as wide as saucers, his face vacant yet haunted with a terrible understanding. He had no response. “Do you know what a Destroyer is?” Horo asked, more desperately now.

Ren said nothing, and Anna interjected impatiently. “Carry on reading, perhaps he’ll explain.”

> _I don’t know, dear friend, if you will believe me when I say that I have a demon living inside my head. He is the one who stepped forward to perform all of these atrocities when I could not, and he keeps our most nightmarish memories in his mind, away from me. Sometimes he operates my body to do his bidding. Sometimes he idles for days and says nothing. He has no name, but I know him as Wōden._
> 
> _It was the responsibility of those men – and in the beginning, my father – to create Wōden. And though he was born and my reality changed irreversibly, we were eventually deemed a failure. I was lined up for termination. The men didn’t do it themselves however, I couldn’t imagine them ever getting their hands dirty in that way. They tasked someone else to lead me to my demise: a new recruit to their operation, a young foreigner by the name of Marco Lasso. He was not much older than me, and incredibly blue-blooded._
> 
> _Marco was to lead me to a secluded area, a field just outside of rural Meissen. He was to hand me a gun, and state the keyword that would enable my self-destruct programming, a facility most programmed victims possess. Initially I resisted, and there was a struggle. Being the failed experiment that I was, even Marco couldn’t placate me with his commands. I attacked him, and he shot me himself. Without waiting to see the results of his attack, he fled, no doubt to tell his superiors that the operation had been successful. Meanwhile I lay bleeding in the open field, the bullet lodged in my chest. I was rendered unconscious for a while, but in between fits, Wōden walked us into the town of Meissen and I sought help._
> 
> _As soon as I was fit and able, I fled the country at age eighteen and began my medical studies. I can’t possibly explain why I was drawn to medicine. Perhaps it was my way of compensating for the damage Wōden still insisted on causing. He destroyed, I healed. Or perhaps that would be too poetic._
> 
> _From time to time, I found myself rousing from a sleep I didn’t even know I’d had, to find myself in the wake of some terror that Wōden had caused. He latched on to people, began destroying their lives from the inside out. Mostly, these people were my friends. Through countless experiments, recreational drugs and self-hypnosis, I have come during my waking life to be aware of whom Wōden has been targeting._
> 
> _I believe he has found Marco Lasso, the man who tried to kill us, and is now terrorizing him as penance for what he did. He has stalked and terrified the man, to a point where I’m not sure even I can agree on his torment._
> 
> _I have also seen evidence that he has been pushing illicit substances through a local gang of youths, headed by a young man named Chocolove. These youths have, under instruction from Wōden, been peddling drugs and repossessing lives in lieu of debts._
> 
> _Most worryingly, I have noted Wōden’s interest in a young friend of mine, Usui Horokeu. Horokeu has been like a son to me, and I regret most horribly that Wōden has been tearing his life apart for some time. I believe Wōden’s obsession with Horokeu is due to his involvement with a young man named Ren. Ren is like me – a product of mind control experiments. Through my familiar understanding of Ren’s mental state, I have been trying to assist him in reintegration, with the final goal of bringing those responsible to justice. But Wōden insists on interfering with this process. He has infiltrated choice parts of Ren’s programming; he has informed their enemies of their intentions, and he has led the wolves to their door._

“What does that mean?” Ren’s voice quivered as he finally spoke, the spell about him eventually broken. “What has he done?”

Horo couldn’t answer, didn’t want to answer. He continued reading instead, voice thick with emotion.

> _Let it be known that I have fought my demon every step of the way. I have tried whatever I could to stop him from wreaking his destruction. I have known pain, but none so severe as he has caused to others in our long years. I want you to know that I am sorry for what we have done to you, for if I have known you, I have hurt you. I hope you can take solace in the fact that now I am gone, you will no longer be in danger._
> 
> _Please, dear friends, when I have vanished from your lives and nothing but the pieces remain, remember me not as Wōden the Destroyer – remember me as that little boy who loved ships and spoke with a stammer, with a heart full of hope and a head full of wonder. Remember me as Johann Faust VIII._

None of them spoke, bowing their heads in silent memory of Faust, as he had been. Even unshakeable Anna, when she spoke again, sounded as though she was affected when she said, “Is… is that all?”

Horo cleared his throat, blinking away tears. “There’s something else. It’s been scribbled at the bottom. I think he wrote it afterwards.”

> _Dear Eliza, I loved you more than I could bear. I hope your only memories of me are good ones._ _Ich liebe dich, mein Leibling._

Horo’s heavy eyes fell upon the gravestone in front of him. Eliza’s name glittered back at him in gold, a gentle sigh on the wind that he thought for a moment might have been her ghost. If she had known the truth about her husband’s origins, it had never changed her love for him. Horo knew even death wouldn’t accomplish that.

“I think he was expecting something to happen,” Anna said, quietly. “Why else would he write this?”

“Yeah…” Horo agreed, not really listening. He flicked through the rest of the blank pages absent-mindedly as he let the terrible feeling in his stomach rest there. Faust was a victim, just like Ren. And yet nothing like him. Ren would never be able to do the things that Faust had done, not even the worst of his alters.

He stopped when a small piece of paper fluttered out of the book he was holding. Anna moved faster than he did to pick it up, and she studied it eagerly. It was a business card. After a few agonising seconds is silence, she turned it around to show him.

_Luchist Lasso_ , _Editor-in-Chief._

She smiled with a triumph that Horo really didn’t feel. “Boys, I think we have a lead.”

She soon disappeared to make a few calls, leaving Horo and Ren still upon the grave. Horo finished his carving in silence, and leant it gently against Eliza’s headstone when he was done. It was a small tribute, but it was a tribute nonetheless. He hoped she was proud of him.

Ren started to sob again, and Horo held him close as he did. Over the sound of Ren’s tears, Horo thought he could hear the creak of a wheelchair’s wheels somewhere close by. Looking around, he saw nothing, and he put it down to his imagination.


	29. Chapter 29

Faust’s betrayal – and, to an equal extent, Eliza’s death – changed almost everything for Horo and Ren.

Knowing what had been done to the Fausts’ home, both of them no longer felt comfortable staying in Horo’s apartment. The address was familiar to the wrong people, and just being there was a risk. The night of the funeral, Horo arrived home and began packing their necessities into backpacks and carrier bags, hands shaking with emotion, in order for them to both run away. Where to, he didn’t know, but he intended to keep moving so that the Grigori and Faust couldn’t find them. He didn’t care if they had to sleep in shop doorways, if they had no food or warmth or water, so long as he was with Ren and could protect him. He told Anna about his plan, suggesting that for her own safety it was probably best if they severed contact and parted ways. The Grigori might not know her name yet, but they soon would, and she wouldn’t be safe for long after that. But Anna would hear none of it. Whether her loyalty was to their friendship or to the story she was fast uncovering, Horo couldn’t be sure, but she extended the offer for both he and Ren to stay with her, at least until they could find somewhere more secure to live.

Horo accepted gratefully, his confidence in himself to provide for Ren quickly waning. He informed Pirika of his decision and urged her to distance herself from all of them. Lyserg offered her a bed at his parents’ house, where he lived, and Horo decided there were much worse places for her to be. They hugged, tearfully, for the first time in years, and said their goodbyes, at least for now. Anna promised to keep them informed but otherwise they were to have no regular contact.

Horo dragged their meagre belongings to the door of Anna’s apartment, nine storeys up in a trendy, upmarket part of the city.

Horo was surprised by how affluent the area was, but otherwise the apartment was exactly what he expected of Anna. The decoration was minimalist, no nonsense, and everything was meticulously kept in its place. All of her furniture was Swedish, pleasing to the eye but with sharp edges, a little like her. Her kitchen and living space was basically one big room, with only a breakfast bar to create any kind of separation between the two areas. All of the floors were laminate, the ceilings were tall and the windows were large. She even had a second bedroom, where she instructed Horo to leave all their belongings. There was a single bed and a clothes rail in the obviously little-used space. It was simple, but it was all they needed. Anna always kept the door to her own room shut and Horo never saw inside.

Ren settled in with relative ease, which was a weight off Horo’s mind. He had been understandably rattled since the funeral and Horo wasn’t sure what result moving him out of his comfort zone would have. The first night at Anna’s, he was quiet. He ate his small meal in silence, then went immediately to bed. Horo and Anna remained at the glass dinner table and talked about the situation as it left them.

“So are you planning on just running away forever?” Anna asked candidly, both of her spiny elbows resting on the table.

Horo shrugged, pushing the last of his food around his plate. Anna was a surprisingly good cook but he did not feel much like eating. “I can’t really see another option.”

“You could always fight. That was what you were always planning to do. What happened to Faust and Eliza shouldn’t change that.”

Horo’s heartstrings tugged at the sound of their names. He coughed rather than let the tears come. “I think that’s a good enough reason to accept that fighting back is a dead end. These people are too powerful. And I don’t think they’ve shown us the extent of what they can do. They could still hurt us in ways we couldn’t even imagine. Not even handing Ren back to them would stop them now. We’re too far in.”

“So you’ve considered it?”

Horo met her gaze suddenly. “Not even for a second. They’re going to have to kill me to get to him.”

“Hm. And they probably would be quite happy to,” Anna said, as though this fact didn’t really matter. “Actually, I imagine that’s exactly what _will_ happen, if you think you’re just going to keep running.”

“Oh? And what makes you say that?” Horo said, a little sharper than he had intended. He was getting quite irate with Anna’s know-all attitude, but he couldn’t afford to turn down her hospitality, or her help.

“If they’re as powerful as you say they are, they’ll find you. It doesn’t matter where you are. And when that happens, would you rather be standing and fighting with all of your resources around you, or quivering in a corner with your tail between your legs? I know for sure where I’d rather be.”

Horo huffed derisively. He knew what she was saying was true. It was just so hard to admit it while he was so weak. He had had enough of fighting. He _wanted_ to cower. “And what would _you_ have us do next?”

Anna rolled her eyes as though it was obvious. “We have name: Luchist Lasso. I know the man. I know where we can find him. We need to go to him and strike some fear into his heart. Let him know we’re close to exposing his sordid operation. Then we get some answers. No matter what the cost.”

Horo pushed his chair away from the table. He wasn’t sure what Anna’s idea of ‘the cost’ would be. But he had no intention of putting Ren in harm’s way. And no matter how Horo considered it, putting Ren in front of one of his tormentors was a speeding freight train of harm. He had to be responsible now, he had to be the one to make the decisions for Ren’s safety. It was an overwhelming realisation.

“I’ll sleep on it,” he said, standing up.

Anna began clearing away the plates, with no visible acknowledgement of him at all. He reached his bedroom door before he heard her call to him, “Spare sheets are at the bottom of the bed.”

Horo went quietly into the pitch black room. By the light of the hallway, he could see Ren’s tiny form curled up on the single bed, sheets tucked up to his nose. Horo undressed in the dark and grabbed the pillow and sheets Anna had left for him. He fashioned them into a bed on the floor as best as he could, and tried to ignore how uncomfortable the laminated floor was on his shoulder blades. For a long time, he stared at the ceiling as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and listened for Ren’s gentle breathing. He tried to match his own to the same rhythm, in the hopes that he could relax and sleep without the horrible memories of that last few days coming back to haunt his dreams.

He lay for a long time, sleep evading him, the darkest of his thoughts pounding relentlessly on his consciousness, demanding entry. In the corner of his eyes, he saw movement above him. Ren’s eyes appeared over the edge of the bed.

“Are you awake?” Ren whispered softly.

“Yeah,” Horo whispered back. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

Ren’s hair moved gently around his eyes as he shook his head.

“Are you having trouble sleeping too?”

“I think so.”

“It’s a strange place to us both. I’m sure we’ll settle in quickly.”

“Maybe,” Ren was quiet for a moment, but he kept peering over the bed, studying Horo’s face. Horo studied him right back. “Um… could you sleep in here? With me?”

Horo propped himself up on his arm to look at him properly. “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea…”

“I’m asking. I think I’d feel better if I could feel you next to me.”

Horo could just make out the desperate glint in his pleading eyes. “I’ll just lie next to you for a while. Just until you fall asleep.”

Ren nodded and scooted over to make room. Horo climbed in beside him, immediately grateful for the softness of the mattress. Ren settled back down under the covers, leaving only his two eyes visible. He lay staring at Horo, only a handbreadth between them.

“You still not tired?” Horo asked, after a full minute’s silence.

“A little bit,” came Ren’s muffled reply. “It helps just to look at you. When I look at your face, all those fears I have just seem to go away.”

Horo reached a tentative hand out to hold Ren’s in his own. “You don’t have to be scared. I’m here.”

Ren’s fingers squeezed his gratefully. “I don’t think I _am_ scared any more. I think I want to fight.”

“Ren…”

“I know you have doubts about it all. But I need to know what happened to Jun. You have a sister too, surely you know what it’s like? Would you leave Pirika in that much danger?”

It stung him to think about, but he already had done exactly that. He stood by as she sold herself to the worst of the thugs in their neighbourhood, and merely let it happen because he thought that he didn’t have the strength to fight for her. Now he had her back, could he really let it happen again? He felt stronger now, but not strong enough. All he could do was shake his head meekly in response, fearing the weight of Ren’s argument in this.

“And I don’t think this is something we can just run from,” Ren continued. “I want to be happy with you. And we can’t be happy if we’re always looking over our shoulders, waiting for someone to come and tear us apart. At least, that’s not the way I want to live.”

Horo studied Ren’s stern expression for a long time. It was strange to hear him talk so lucidly. “I can’t lose you,” was all he managed to say through the lump in his throat.

“You won’t,” Ren whispered back. “You’ve seen what I can do. I can fight like the rest of you. I’m stronger now, with everything Faust taught me about myself. I feel like I can use this power against them.”

That was the first time Horo had heard Ren refer to his condition as a ‘power’. But when he thought about it, he realised that it was a better way to look at it than as a curse or an illness. Yes, horrible things had happened to him during the course of his life, but he now had an arsenal at his advantage, courtesy of his very own tormentors. That same arsenal could be their undoing. He could see the reasoning. He just wished he could feel as positive about it as Ren obviously did.

“If I’ve learned anything over the last few days, it’s that our lives are fragile,” Ren continued. “I’ve never had a reason to think about it all until now, mortality, and justice. But I’m finally learning that we can’t let people like that continue as they are. If not for ourselves, then for Eliza’s sake.”

Horo felt tears beading in the corner of his eyes. “I can’t believe what they did to her.”

And for the first time since her death, Horo cried.

Ren snuggled himself into the gap Horo’s body made, and Horo held him close as sobs racked his body. The spasm was short but brutal, and he fought for breath with his nose pressed into Ren’s hair, snuffling at his scent until he calmed and melted against him.

“You don’t have to be scared. I’m here.”

Horo smiled through his tears, hearing his own words repeated back to him. “I’m glad you are.” Horo hugged his hands around Ren’s small frame and he couldn’t deny feeling so much safer for his presence. “I never had a reason to care before I met you, Ren. You’re my reason to fight. I swore we’d see this through together, and we will. I won’t rest until those bastards have paid for this.”

“ _We_ won’t rest,” Ren corrected him, forehead pressed squarely into Horo’s chest. They lay in silence for a while, fingers tracing each other’s palms gently. Ren kept his eyes open until he felt Horo’s breathing change and hands rest gratefully into his own. Satisfied, he pulled the covers back over their heads and nestled down to sleep.

\--

Sometime in the night, Horo felt a tug at his shoulder. He opened his eyes blearily, fighting against the dark to make out the shape before him. Ren was sat up in bed, stock still, and pulling at him meekly.

“Ren, are you alright?” Horo asked, hoarsely. He coughed, pulling himself up on to his elbows to watch Ren more closely. He was awake, but his eyes were vacant, as though he was sleep-walking. His lower lip trembled almost imperceptibly.

“Something bad’s going to happen,” Ren said, in a lilting, childish voice. Innocent, yet full of fear.

“Thomas? Is that you?” Horo frowned, craning further still.

“Something really bad, Horo. I’m scared,” Ren gripped his fingers around Horo’s arm desperately, and Horo had no doubt. Ren had somehow been triggered into Thomas during his sleep. Or had the child alter willingly taken control?

“Hey, listen,” Horo said, quietly. He placed a comforting hand on Ren’s grasping fingers. “Nothing’s going to happen. You’re with me, we’re safe.”

Thomas looked at him then, suddenly, desperation rising. “You don’t understand! We have something. We’re not supposed to have it. Only bad things can happen while we have it!”

Horo’s lips went dry. “Thomas, can you tell me what you have?”

“I can’t. They won’t let me!” Thomas shook his head, and the tears that were brimming in his eyes flew wildly from his lashes. “Dr Faust, he…”

As suddenly as though he’d been knocked out cold, Thomas’ eyes glazed over, and Ren’s body hit the pillow. Someone in Ren’s head had stopped Thomas from speaking. Horo was sure of that much. He tried to wake Ren again, to see if he could remember anything, but he was sleeping too deeply to be roused.

Horo stayed awake for the rest of the night, standing guard over Ren in case Thomas managed to say any more. He hardly felt it was a chore – the nervous hammering of his heart would not let him rest regardless.


	30. Chapter 30

As it turned out, Luchist Lasso was a name that Anna was well familiar with.

“He’s the chief editor at one of the city’s newspapers. Big publication. I know where to find him,” she explained, a smug twinkle in her eye. She knew she was getting close to the prize, and Horo could tell. He hoped her over-excitement didn’t cause her to act hastily.

Luchist’s office – the newspaper headquarters – was on the other side of town. They got a taxi, and Anna rehearsed their cover story all the way there. “Remember, I’ve got a story Luchist wants. I’ll only have to mention that it’s about Hao and we’ll be up there in a flash.”

Horo shuffled uncomfortably in the passenger seat. “Are you sure mentioning his name is such a good idea? If Luchist is who we think he is, then he’s pretty involved with Hao.”

“Which will only make the story that much more interesting to him.”

They were careful to get out of the taxi a street away from their destination. Horo knew this part of town well – it was the commercial district that bordered on his own downtown neighbourhood. Despite the lavish offices and high-rise buildings, the robust development here had left the surrounding area in poverty. Rich businessmen were forced to commute from their suburban houses through the back alleys of the slums, to get to their high salary, white-collar jobs. The men and women that Horo saw passing by his apartment building always walked with their noses high in the air, a disgusted look on their faces, as though they’d been stepping in something nasty ever since they had left their house.

Luchist’s office building was just like all of the others, a dauntingly tall glass structure with lights shone invasively out into the night. It had revolving doors as its entrance, and Anna and Ren glided in without pausing. Horo hesitated and missed his chance to enter, following timidly behind them a moment later. The lobby was airy and large, though all it contained was a small, one-man reception desk, a small waiting area, and an elevator.

Anna marched straight up to the desk where the suit-clad doorman sat.

“Good evening, I’m Anna Kyoyama and I’m here to see-“

“Mr Lasso,” the man finished for her, with a pained smile.

Anna floundered for a moment, her usually cool exterior shattered by her mouth gaping open and closed, fish-like.

“He’s expecting you, Miss Kyoyama. You, and your friends,” the man continued, handing her a silver keycard and casting his forced smile over all of them in turn. “Take the elevator to the twelfth floor, and use this to enter his office. I’ll be here if you need assistance.”

“Th-thank you,” she managed, walking robotically to the elevator door.

Horo dashed after her to pull her back, his actions attracting the attention of the sullen doorman. He dropped his voice low so that he couldn’t eavesdrop. “Anna, I’m not sure about this. We have no idea who’s waiting up there, we can’t take Ren-“

“I want to go,” Ren said, striding up alongside them. “I want to get some answers.”

Horo’s heart sank as he saw Ren’s determined expression. “Ren, I’m scared you’re not ready. Some of your alters are still loyal to Hao. Who knows what exposure to these people might do to you?”

“We’ll just have to find out,” Ren said, boarding the elevator ahead of them all. “Are you coming?”

Anna wasted no time in following, but Horo hesitated as the doors began to shake themselves closed. In a split second decision, he knew he couldn’t send Ren off into obvious danger, not when he wasn’t there to protect him. He swore and pushed himself through the doors just as they clamped shut.

They ascended in uneasy silence. Horo wanted to ask them if they really thought this was still a good idea, knowing now that they were being expected. This could be a trap. He wanted to beg them to leave. He noticed that a little of the colour had drained from Anna’s face, but by the time they reached the twelfth floor, her expression was determined once again.

They walked down a dimly lit corridor to the door of Luchist’s office. It was apparently the only room on this entire floor. Anna hovered outside the door for a moment, keycard paused above the reader as she took a breath to steady her nerves.

Horo grabbed Ren’s hand, more for his own sake than for Ren’s. Ren squeezed back, but didn’t take his eyes off the door in front of them.

The electronic beep came like a cybertronic death knell as the card slid effortlessly through the machine. The door clicked open, and the three of them stepped through in tight formation.

The room was vast. It was easy to see that it was not just an office, but also an archive. Stacks of shelves towered around them like prison walls, each one filled with innumerable rows of books and files. It could have been easy to believe that the knowledge of the entire world and its workings existed within these documents, their contents so complete and numerous. The room was lit dully, hardly useful to do any real work by.

A desk sat in a clear space among the rows. It was made of polished black glass, just like most of the furniture and ornaments adorning the room. Behind it, Luchist sat reclined in a large chair, his fingers drumming against one another patiently. His face was long and cruel and his small eyes greedily watched the group shuffle into the room. His head looked lost upon his powerhouse of a body, so abhorrent on a man as old as he was. Even underneath his black tailored suit, Horo could see the definition of muscle all through his arms and up his straining neck. Horo wasn’t sure if he was more afraid of the physical damage this man could obviously wreak upon them, or the emotional torment his spiteful face hinted that he was capable of.

“Welcome, friends,” Luchist said, in a voice deeper than any Horo had ever heard. He felt Ren bristle beside him, but a glance at his face told Horo that he was successfully holding on to himself, despite the danger before him. “Please, make yourselves at home.” Luchist gestured to three chairs, carefully laid out in front of him in anticipation of their visit. None of them moved to accept the offer. He waved his hand dismissively. “Suit yourselves. However I can’t help but notice how rude it is for strangers to enter my office and not introduce themselves.”

Anna started to speak, but Luchist cut her off with a wave of his hand and deep, rumbling sound that must have been laughter. “No need. I am toying with you. I know all of you already. Especially you, Ren. It’s been a while.”

It was plain that Luchist was gunning for Ren first. His programming would have made him an easy target. Anna knew he was vulnerable, and tried to turn Luchist’s attention away.

“How did you know we were coming here?” she demanded.

Luchist smirked. “Surely a budding reporter such as yourself could have figured this out by now. Your ‘friend’, Johann Faust. I believe he left you a little clue in order for you to reach me. It was a subtle plan of mine, but effective, wouldn’t you say?”

Horo felt the sting of loss assail him once again. “You knew Faust?”

“Usui Horokeu,” Luchist’s gaze was suddenly upon him, devious and unyielding. “The defeatist. Faust warned me of your short-comings. I’m surprised you made it this far at all. And yes, I knew Faust. I was his main point of contact for his programming. That is, before his little ‘accident’.” Luchist smiled again, triumphantly, like Eliza’s murder and Faust’s injuries were the best-told joke in the world.

Horo wanted to bite back. He knew it was all bait, but he wanted to seize it, and gnash and grind, until he tore this devil of a man apart. He breathed deeply and said instead, “Tell us how you’re involved with Ren.”

Luchist put on a mock hurt expression. “Why Ren! All the time we spent together and you’ve forgotten me?” He chuckled again, like the rumbling of thunder. “I cannot believe you have made it this far and still don’t know the smallest details.”

“I’ll tell you who he is,” Ren suddenly spoke, a growl of hostility in his tone. “Looking at his face now, I can remember. They’re all screaming at me, inside me, and I know him. This man devised my ‘training’. He wrote our codes, he planned out our torment. He never got involved, never got his hands dirty, but he surrendered me to Hao with an instruction manual taped to my back. He constructed the base of us, then sent me to _him_. And I’m not the only one, he’s done this to others.”

Horo kept a close eye on Ren’s shifting expressions, hearing him change so fluidly in his use of ‘I’ and ‘we’. There was a cage match of alters going on inside him, Horo was sure of it. Yet he was handling it remarkably well. Horo kept the grip on his hand firm.

“Of course there have been others,” Luchist answered dismissively. “Don’t think yourself so special that you might be the only one, Ren. You are but a small gear in an entire moving machine of our making. But you’re not here to talk about the others, are you?” Luchist leaned back in his chair. “You’re here for answers. So continue. The floor is yours. What do you want to know?”

“Why did you hurt Eliza and Faust?” Horo blurted out, unable to hold the anger back any longer.

“Interesting line of enquiry, Horokeu. Faust was no longer of any use to us. He had his functions, but he was beginning to be detrimental to our plans. He helped you too much, he began to undo the years of work that had gone into Ren. He had made a few of his own enemies and as it turns out, they could be easily bought to do a little dirty work. We had intended for them to give him just a warning shot with the death of his wife. He himself became collateral damage, however,” Luchist shrugged exaggeratedly. “I suppose that’s what you get for working with street thugs.”

“Do you know where he’s gone?” Horo pushed on, feeling helplessness envelop him once more.

“I can only assume he’s gone to find himself a new target to begin deconstructing. He’ll make himself known to us again once he has some useful information. His associations to his previous life will soon fade away.”

Horo still felt his loss deeply, and Luchist’s words pulled him down into it all over again. Ren squeezed his hand once more and caught him mid-fall.

“Can we get back on topic?” Anna said, brashly. “We’re here about Ren.”

“As you wish, Miss Kyoyama,” Luchist said, with a teasing bow of his head. He was enjoying this.

“We want you to release him to us.”

This seemed to amuse Luchist more than necessary. He fought to find his words again through his deep laughter. “Oh, Miss Anna, for such an intelligent young woman, you do say the cutest things. It’s not as simple as flicking a switch and making his programming go away. He’s not a machine. Even I couldn’t undo the work we’ve done over the years, not even with my own commands. The web of his mind is too intricate. Pull the wrong thread and the whole thing comes unravelled, and Ren’s sanity with it. I’m afraid the only way Ren will ever be close to human again is through his reintegration work. Of course, that’s at something of a dead end now your doctor friend is no longer around.”

“Okay, so it can’t be undone,” Anna said. “At least explain to us why this has been done to him.”

“The development of the perfect human being is the ultimate goal. The perfect spy, the perfect messenger, the perfect warrior. Ren is merely a prototype, but can you imagine the wars that will be fought with an army of perfect soldiers marching over the desert? They will have no desire other than to serve us, a blank slate awaiting our every command. In each of their minds will be countless skill sets, abilities, secrets, all of them available to utilise at the sound of a siren, the sight of a weapon, a whisper of a threat. Can you imagine how our enemies will cower when they see our warriors marching, blank-eyed and hardened to torture? They will practically hand us their oil in their own cupped hands.”

“And you expect that no one will notice this?” Anna glared.

Luchist threw both arms out either side of him, a look of what Horo supposed was joy on his darkened face. “Who will be left to tell the tale? Our enemies would be obliterated before they could so much as blink.”

“Why was Ren involved in this?” Horo asked.

“You must understand: he was born for this purpose. As was his mother, and her first child. Though the female broke quickly, and we had her destroyed. Ren was by far the more superior model.”

In his hand, Horo could feel Ren’s fingers begin to shake. “My sister… Jun… she’s dead?”

Luchist shrugged off the question. “Come now, it wasn’t deliberate. When they’re that weak, they break quite easily.”

Ren’s voice was full of tears when he spoke. “You monster. She didn’t do anything to you.”

“You barely knew the girl, Ren,” Luchist said, without emotion. “Besides, after what you did to her, you’re hardly the innocent party.”

Ren’s hand flew out of Horo’s so fast that he barely noticed its absence, until he saw it reaching beneath his clothing, and in one smooth motion, brandishing a silver handgun straight in Luchist’s direction. His whole body was quivering, but his shooting arm was dead as stone.

“Ren, what the hell?! Where did you get that?” Horo cried out, ducking down instinctively at the sight of the weapon.

“Faust gave it to me,” Ren flicked the gun to the side to direct him. “Just stand aside, Horo. I have to do this.”

Luchist hadn’t even flinched. He sat with his arms resting on the arms of his chair, fingers folded together and a sly smile on his face. “You don’t want to do that, Ren.”

“Why the hell not?” Ren shouted, in a voice unlike his own. Horo couldn’t help but think he’d been triggered. “I should paint the walls with your brains, you animal, for what you’ve done to me, to all the others, and to my family.”

“I implore you to try,” Luchist said, non-chalantly. With no attempt to hide it, he opened a drawer in his desk and pulled something out.

Horo cried out in alarm, thinking he saw a gun, and made a leap for Ren to pull him out of harm’s way. He caught hold of his arm but he was cemented like a brick.

He heard Luchist laugh. “Oh don’t fret Horokeu, I have nothing so crass.” He slid on to the desk a black leather wallet. It was thin, with a clasp holding it shut. It was worryingly familiar.  Luchist drummed two fingers upon its surface.

“I have here a symbol that would change your stance completely, Ren. One look at what’s inside here and you would turn that gun upon your friends without a second thought.”

The gun drifted. Ren lost his nerve. “I don’t believe you…”

“Do you care to risk it?” Luchist smirked. “Lower the gun.”

Horo tugged on Ren’s shooting arm again. This time it moved. Ren stumbled to the side. Ren fought back, pulling against Horo to force his arm back into position. Horo hung like a lame animal from Ren’s elbow, lacking the strength to make him subside. He noticed Anna was standing aside coolly, watching to see how this whole drama played out, as though it didn’t concern her.

“Ren, if you do this, you’ll be a murderer, just like him. Do you want that?” Horo pleaded. “You’re just getting your life back, don’t lose it now, not for the likes of him!”

“He’s right, little Ren,” Luchist fingered the symbol confidently. “If I were you, I’d leave here immediately with your humanity still intact. If you put the weapon down now, I’ll allow you to walk out of here unscathed. All of you.”

Horo tugged Ren backwards. His resolve must have been waning, as Horo managed to make him stumble back, towards the door.

“Come on, Ren! We have to go!”

Ren kicked and screamed obscenities at Luchist, waving the gun around in a way that made Horo nervous. Somewhere during the struggle, Anna caught hold of Ren’s other arm, and with difficulty, they both forced him back fighting out of the door.

Pushing them both through, Anna lingered inside the doorway for a moment longer. She turned to Luchist, curiosity in her eyes. “Why are you just letting us walk away?”

“I’ve left you all to your own devices for this long. I could have interjected and taken Ren away at any moment. Call me an observer of the human condition. I’m not like Hao, he will take action. I prefer to watch you undo yourselves from afar.”

“You have a serious God complex.”

“Fortunately for you, that’s my biggest flaw. When Hao makes his next move, you won’t be so lucky. He is not as vain as I.”

Anna huffed at his pretentiousness. But, satisfied, she left, helping to pull Ren back into the elevator.

Luchist watched them disappear down the long hallway without so much as moving. He didn’t breath until he heard the familiar whoosh of the elevator descending. He slid a thick finger into his shirt collar to give some relief from its viper-like grip, the sweat running into its collarbone. The rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins made him chuckle to himself. This is why he missed the front line.

He toyed with the wallet in front of him, still laughing. He flicked the cover open and closed, smiling at the inside: empty.


	31. Chapter 31

When they arrived back at Anna’s apartment, Horo confronted Ren about the gun. It had taken almost the entire journey home to calm him down after his outburst at Luchist, but Horo couldn’t let the subject lie. Having wrestled the weapon out of his hands, Horo had handed it to Anna, who disappeared off to lock it away in her personal safe.

“I cannot believe you have had that thing the whole time, and didn’t even think to tell me about it. Do you understand how dangerous that could have been?”

Ren was sullen. He flopped down on to Anna’s cream sofa without a word in his defence.

“And Faust just _gave_ it to you? Just handed it over for you to use however you wanted?”

“In hindsight, I think it was Wōden. I don’t know what his intentions were.”

“And you never thought of mentioning it? You _know_ what some of your alters are capable of. You could have been in serious danger!”

“You think that was me in there, in Luchist’s office?” Ren bit back.

Horo backed off for a moment as he turned it over in his mind. “No, I don’t.”

“Right. It was Calibre. He has weapons training.”

“Isn’t he the broken one? The same alter that tried to rip Faust’s throat out the first time they met?”

“Yes, but he was coerced. His natural state is self-preservation. He’s the only one with knowledge of how to fight with weapons.”

“That doesn’t mean he couldn’t have turned on you, Ren. Not with a gun so nearby. For all you know, just seeing a gun could have been his trigger to snap.”

Ren shook his head dismissively. “I’m not justifying my actions. I’m about to ask for your help with something.”

Horo let his anger fizzle. “What is it?” he asked, exasperated.

“Calibre is one of the alters I haven’t yet reconnected with. If we’re going up against Hao, I need his skills. I need you to help me reintegrate with him.”

“Wait, I’ve never done that before. That was Faust’s-“

“You might not have done it yourself, but you watched Faust do it countless times,” Ren said, fixing him with a determined stare. “I know you can help.”

“He’s right, Horo,” Anna entered the room again, arms folded diplomatically. “If we can go to Hao armed and ready we’ll have an undeniable advantage. Any advantage at all would be a blessing. We need Ren to be as prepared as he feels he needs to be. If that involves using weapons, great – we know he has impeccable skills in that area that we can use.”

“How…?” Horo began.

“We can recreate Faust’s process ourselves. Here, I took notes.”

She handed Horo her black notebook. It was the first time he had seen her willingly let it go. She was careful to present it to him already at the proper page, so he had no need to flick through the rest.

Horo skimmed his eyes over the messy and confusing notes, and put his hand to his head to soothe the ache he could already feel forming. “Okay, let me look over these for a few days, and then-“

“No,” said Ren, sharply. “We have to try now. Calibre is elusive, but he is near the surface now, after tonight. We should be able to call upon him easily. Usually he is protected by a network of others.”

Horo studied Ren’s focused expression, and sighed in frustration. “I’m really worried he’s going to try and hurt you. I don’t have any restraints, I don’t know the keywords to make him stop.”

“Then just trust _me_. I can hold him back. I’m so much stronger now than I was when you first met me. Calibre is dangerous, but he is not the worst of them.”

There was no doubt in Ren’s eyes, Horo could see that clearly. As the one who was going to be in the driving seat of this experiment, he wished he could feel even a little of Ren’s confidence himself.

“Fine, we’ll try. Anna, can you help me gather some things?”

Together, they improvised Faust’s reintegration toolkit from things Anna had lying around her apartment. An old necklace became a pendulum; curtain tiebacks became crude restraints – just in case – and a small group of tealights on a covered footstool became a simplistic Altar of Forgiveness.

Horo pulled his chair opposite Ren’s, a foot of space between them, and began to swing the pendulum as he stumbled through the same words he had head Faust chant a hundred times before. He gave Ren’s hand one final squeeze as he went under. Anna sat back and watched as Horo called for Calibre.

The mention of his name was enough to make him appear tonight, as Ren’s face changed from blank and empty, to stern and calculating. Horo could tell from the way Calibre’s eyes flicked around the room, reptile-like, that he had already assessed the room for its dangers, exits and opportunities. He looked Anna and Horo up and down before resting back slightly in his chair, obviously detecting no threat. He kept both feet firmly planted on the ground, legs braced, as though to jump up at any moment, should the situation change.

“Am I speaking to Calibre?” Horo asked, feeling self-conscious.

“It depends who’s asking.”

“My name is Horo, I’m an… an ally of Ren’s. We’ve met before.”

“Yes, I know you,” Calibre nodded briskly. “You’re the bastard who tried to stop me firing earlier. Damn near messed up my shooting arm.”

“I had to stop you, you have to understand-“

“Horo…” A warning from Anna. He was getting too personal. He was supposed to remain impartial.

He cleared his throat and composed himself. “So, you are the one we saw in Luchist’s office?”

“’Course I am, are you blind? I couldn’t miss my opportunity to end that man once and for all. What I wouldn’t give to put a bullet right between his beady little eyes…”

“Do you have a… dispute with Luchist?”

“Huh!” Calibre snorted. “You don’t know what that man’s capable of.”

“Do you feel like telling me?”

“Kid, I could tell you things about Luchist Lasso that would make your blood turn like sour milk. But I wouldn’t want to worry your little blue head about it. My problem with him is personal.”

“Can you tell me about it?”

Calibre leaned forward in his chair, resting each elbow on his knees, Such a masculine pose looked strange on Ren. “Listen, I got ears. I heard every little conversation you’ve had with these morons,” Calibre tapped his head forcefully. “And I know what you think you’re about to do.”

“Well then, tell us,” Anna interjected from across the room.

Calibre smirked without even looking at her. “You think that by making me ‘forgive’ Luchist, I’ll dissolve myself into Ren, give up what I know and who I am and just become part of someone else. That ain’t the way things are gonna be.”

“Why’s that?” Horo asked, his nerves rising.

“I can’t trust that piss weasel with my skills. Besides, Luchist ain’t my main offender.”

“There’s someone more significant to you than Luchist?” Anna questioned, taking a step closer, as though she didn’t want to miss the answer.

“Don’t be dense, lady. You know who it is,” Calibre leaned back in his chair, arms folded triumphantly.

“Hao,” Horo muttered darkly.

“Bingo,” Calibre pointed at Horo aggressively. “Luchist’s a piss in a puddle compared to him.”

“Then can we maybe talk to you about forgiving Hao?” Horo pressed, knowing it was the wrong thing to say immediately even as the words left his lips.

Calibre winced suddenly.

“Are you okay?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, just all of these imbeciles like to speak at once,” he rolled his eyes upwards. “They’re all telling me that Hao doesn’t need to be forgiven.”

“All of them?”

Calibre shrugged. “Most. They don’t reckon he’s done anything wrong.”

“Ren’s not among them?” Horo said, half statement, half question.

“He’s always too quiet for me to hear in here. We’re too many leagues apart. I have no idea what he thinks.”

“Is there anything we can say that would make you reconsider joining Ren?”

Calibre leaned forward again, closing the gap between himself and Horo worryingly. “Listen, kid. Only one thing’s going to get me to roll over and give myself up, and that’s the sight of Hao’s corpse in front of me. Until then, I ain’t budging.”

Horo could feel his desperation rising. He was losing this, he was going to let Ren down. “Then why won’t you help us? We want vengeance on Hao too, that’s why we’re doing this.”

“You know as well as I do that you suckers ain’t gonna kill that man. Not sure you could even kill a flea between you. No, only one punishment is fit for Hao and that’s a quick, brutal death at my own hands.”

Calibre’s leg was twitching, his foot stamping periodically on the floor. Horo noticed his increasing anxiety with concern. If they knew anything about this alter, it was his tendency to flip at any moment.

Horo was ready to back off, try to call Ren back before the situation got out of hand, but Anna couldn’t resist poking the bear. “What could he possibly have done to you to make you want to commit murder?”

Calibre whipped his whole body round in her direction. “I ain’t never hit a lady, but I’m sure there could be a first time if you keep asking such stupid questions.”

“Hmm… your reasoning just seems weak, that’s all. ‘He hurt me, so I’ll kill him’. I’m sure that would hold up in court.”

Calibre sprang out of his chair then with a force that knocked the furniture back. He shot right towards Anna, grasping her neck in his one hand. Horo grabbed after him but Calibre slipped through his fingers.

Anna was shocked silent as Calibre began shouting like a drill sergeant in her face. His fingers closed around her trachea and she began to writhe. “I’ll tell you what he did to me. He took away my humanity. No sleep, no food, no clothes. Even animals lived better than we did. He left me with some of our worst memories locked inside me. He beat me, abused me, but worst of all, he _made_ me. He’s the reason I exist, he’s the reason I hurt, and he’s the reason I feel. What could be worse than that, huh?”

Anna wheezed out something in reply, her voice stolen along with her oxygen. Her knees buckled, and Calibre bore down on her, his grip fast.

Horo struggled with Calibre’s free hand, pulling him away as best as he could. His grip was strong and unrelenting, and Horo watched Anna’s lips turn blue. Horo hooked his whole arm around his, wrenching powerlessly, when suddenly, he fell backwards, taking Calibre with him.

The two of them crashed into the furniture, sprawling backwards on to the floor.

Horo managed to spring up first and put a foot on Calibre’s chest to hold him in place. Ren’s golden eyes gleamed up at him and he felt a wave of relief. “You took control,” he breathed gratefully, taking his foot away.

“I couldn’t let him hurt either of you,” Ren said, pulling himself up to rush to Anna’s side.

She was still conscious, but struggling for breath. Horo fetched her some water and Ren sat with her until she was back to herself again. She drank the water gratefully, and Ren tried to apologise.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said, hoarsely. “I’m fine. Just going to go to bed.”

She shrugged off any mention of help, told them she was fine, but Horo saw her hands shaking as she opened her bedroom door.

\--

 _So,_ Marco thought to himself, _this is where the torment of my guilty soul has led._

It hadn’t been hard for him to get the sources he needed. He knew nothing on the subject of explosives, but he had connections, and he used them thoroughly. Among the books and manuals he had procured, there were even some deactivated prototypes that had been confiscated from terrorist cells from around the country.

He had run as many trials as he could, in a hired storage space across the city. But due to the nature of the product, his tests could only go so far, and in the end he was forced to leave the results to fate.

Marco said an extra three prayers the night he completed his holy task. His justice would be swift and complete. He would atone for his sins, past and present. He would cleanse the earth of their unholy experiments in a way that would satisfy even Wōden’s bloodthirsty desires. At last, he would be free of his guilt.


	32. Chapter 32

That night, Horo dreamt of Calibre as a real, whole person. He was huge and monstrous, with an old face and a buzz cut. He knelt on Horo’s neck and pushed down until Horo was choking and fighting for breath.

When he wrenched himself out of his dream, gasping, he found Ren’s arm flung lazily over his neck. The pressure was blocking his airways, making his choking real. He softly removed Ren’s arm and tucked it in beside him. He was sleeping peacefully, apparently exhausted from the day’s events. Yet despite the difficulty they had had with Calibre, Ren still wanted to continue trying to win him over. This prospect terrified Horo more than he realised, but he tried not to let it show. Though his dreams were obviously eager to remind him.

He crept out of bed gently and maneuvered his way across the dark apartment to the kitchen. He felt too awake, too wired to fall back to sleep. He passed Anna’s door and saw that all the lights were off. He wondered if she’d had any trouble sleeping tonight. As they got closer to their goal, Horo felt the weight of what they were doing heavy in his mind. They were all in the firing line, not just from Luchist, Hao and the Grigori, but also from the enemies within their midsts – Ren’s dangerous alters. He thought of Calibre and then of Tiger, and shivered violently. No doubt countless others waited in the ether of Ren’s mind, waiting for their opportunity for revenge, or self-destruction, or whatever kind of sacrifice they desired to satiate their bloodlust.

He poured himself a glass of milk in the hopes that it would calm his churning stomach, and drank it slowly, staring out of the kitchen window as he did.

Looking down on the city, illuminated by streetlights and shop signs even at this late hour, Horo pondered his fate in all of this, this big invisible plan that everyone was a slave to. If each of those thousand lights represented a person – their circumstances, desires and fears – what divinity determined that this lot in life be his? He had lost his religion a long time ago, after his parents had passed away, but right now he yearned for that sense of security he had held as a child, attending church each Sunday, confident that his life was safely in someone else’s hands.

Wallowing in a mire of self-pity, he barely heard a door creak open. The small noise just about registered somewhere in the corner of his consciousness, and he turned slowly, expecting to see Ren or Anna behind him. There was no one there.

Shrugging, he finished his drink and headed back towards his bed.

On his way through the darkened living room, he felt a chill creep over him. Then a shape moved somewhere. Suddenly he was hyper-tense. He saw the front door swinging open. Anna had definitely locked it when they got back.

While he was looking at the door, his back was turned to the rest of the room. Meaning he couldn’t see the dark shape of a man rise up behind him. He turned to leave, and stumbled backwards again in shock. The man was silent, every inch of his body covered in black clothing. His face was covered in a balaclava. He carried a gun.

“Ren!” Horo managed to shout out a warning, before the man reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder. His grip was firm and the man forced him down, one-handed, to his knees. Then the man thrust something into his face. Horo flinched, assuming it was the gun. But when no trigger clicked and no demands were made, Horo couldn’t help but risk a glance.

What the man was holding was a leather case. Inside was a large metal coin, engraved with an intricate pattern. Horo studied it, dumb-founded, for a full twenty seconds, before the man hit him across the face with the force of a jack hammer and walked away.

It was then, sprawled out across the floor in the darkness, that he realised what the man was here for. The case was the same as the one he had seen in Luchist’s office, the same as the one that Anna had stolen from Hao. The metal disc inside was a symbol. They were here for Ren.

Horo tried to get up, and stumbled. He noticed his hair was damp and sticky with blood. Whatever the man had hit him with had cut open his head. He immediately felt intensely sick and the room span around him. “Ren!” he managed to call again, but the noise made him feel worse. He saw more dark shapes moving around him and he realised it wasn’t his double vision – there were more men here.

He watched one of the men open Anna’s door, then heard a scream as he awoke her. He heard a crash, then silence, and the man reappeared. There was only one room left for them to check.

Horo lay, obscured by the sofa, a regretful audience, watching as his worst nightmare played out in front of him.

The masked men made no attempt to communicate – everything they did, they did in complete silence. Yet they seemed to move as one whole unit as they surrounded the door to Ren’s room. They entered, and Horo braced himself for the sound of Ren’s torment.

But nothing came. Horo lay with only the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears and dripping out on to the floor. Not taking his eyes off the door, he almost missed someone else entering the apartment.

It was another man, but this person wore no disguises. As he entered, he left the door wide open brazenly, letting the light from the hallway spill inside. Horo could see his face, outrageously handsome but with a deadness in his eyes that made Horo’s skin crawl. Horo was all-too familiar with his image, but to see his sharp, cruel smile and elegantly tousled hair in flesh and blood was odd, like a painting given life. He strode arrogantly right past where Horo lay. It was only after he had disappeared into Ren’s room that Horo realised that he had for the first time seen Hao Asakura.

At finally laying his eyes on his own personal enemy, Horo expected to feel a surge of anger, an urge to fight, any display of rage his body could muster. But his injury caused him to look on with cruel indifference as this man, this Hao Asakura, emerged mere seconds later, holding Ren’s hand tightly in his. Ren walked beside him, blank as a slate, staring straight ahead. Of course Hao had gotten to him. He knew every facet of Ren’s mind better than Horo ever could. He knew Ren’s every thought, every emotion, every movement. He had created the man that Horo held so dear.

Finally, a thought that evoked emotion in him. He felt a jealousy so intense his limbs seized up involuntarily, squeezing against his body and constricting his heart like a viper. He imagined leaping at Hao right then and tearing into those dull eyes in the most brutal way possible.

As he walked past Horo, Hao smiled down on him with something akin to pity. He knelt slightly as he passed, still clutching Ren’s hand tightly, and spoke quietly into Horo’s eardrum. In a smooth, commanding voice, he warned, “I know you know where we’re going. But you would do well to remember that when it comes to Ren, I have absolute power. If you make a single move to try and follow us, I can make him do things to himself _and_ those you love that would ruin you, and him, forever. I hope that’s clear enough.”

Horo’s heart burned with a fiery rage until Hao, the men, and his dear Ren had left.

He passed out, a sweet blanket of nothing that robbed him of his anger.


	33. Chapter 33

Ren had been taken to the one place he had hoped never to see again. When he came back to his senses, he was being dragged by some of the larger men from the Grigori, back into the Sanctuary. He immediately began kicking and screaming, biting and howling at his captors. His alters switched so rapidly he could no longer remember who he was himself. They had thrown him with difficulty into his old cell. Nothing had changed. The old mattress he called a bed still lay dishevelled in a damp corner of the tiny room. The air smelled like piss and mould, and the stone floors and ceilings were slick with residue. The cold was debilitating. How had he ever lived here?

Ren had thrashed wildly against the walls for the first hour, each alter vying for an attempt at breaking free of this accursed place. It didn’t take long for someone to arrive with a calming key word and a sedative.

This left Ren in a trance-like state, hovering by the small window his cell possessed. The moonlight flickered across the ground, shone invitingly on to his face. His body was non-cooperative, but his mind was racing. The cacophony in his head was deafening. He could almost feel all of his reintegration work slipping away, in sheer moments. Months of progress, gone. He no longer felt as whole as he had at home.

 _Home._ He managed to summon up a thought of what that meant to him now. It had been a long time since that word had had a meaning. _Home._

He thought of that rundown apartment - a palace compared to his cell here – of Pirika, of Faust and Anna… of Horo.

He knew Horo would come here. How could he not? This was the man who had devoted every moment of time to him since the day they met. The man who was so patient despite Ren’s many problems. The man who had taught him what it meant to be wanted, not used. There was no way Horo wouldn’t make it here.

This should have filled him with hope. Instead, it filled him with dread.

One thing that he noticed now, since all of his work with Faust, was that he had almost become an observer to his other personalities. Whereas before he was subject to them, switching against his will, towering walls between each existence that made awareness of most of them impossible, he now felt like an outsider looking in. He stood on a precipice above them all, while they jostled below for attention. He saw them all, heard them all. He knew their functions, he knew their alliances. He was happy with this. All he needed to do was focus on what he needed to hear, on the alter that would best benefit his current situation, whatever it would be at the time. Honing in on the correct alter, he could hear its views loud and clear in his mind, tap into its skill sets. He wanted to do it now, find something useful, something reassuring even. But he found all of his alters were speaking as one, relaying one horrific message with varying sentiment:

_Horo will come here, and he will die._

Hao would never let him live. Not after all he had seen. Not after all the damage he had caused to years of experiments and careful manipulation. Hao had the capacity, and Ren knew he would not hesitate.

Ren stood by the window, body lifeless, staring out into the wasteland surrounding him. He both craved and feared the sight of Horo arriving on that horizon.

The scrape of a heavy door sounded behind him. His body wouldn’t obey commands of turning around to see who had entered.

But the presence that dominated the room needed no confirmation in Ren’s mind. Ren felt the colour of his aura the moment he swept inside, closing the door just slightly behind him. He came with no reinforcements like the others had; he needed no assistance.

“Don’t fret, precious. I’m here,” Hao’s musical tones rang tantalisingly around the cell. “Step away from the window.”

Ren felt his body tense unbidden as Hao’s hands clasped each of his arms securely. Ren wished he could fight them away.

Those same hands guided him slowly to the sunken mattress in the corner of the room. “Perhaps you should go back to sleep.”

Ren felt himself being pushed down on to the filthy bed and suddenly he was looking right into his captor’s eyes, those deep brown pitfalls that had tormented him ever since he had left this place.

“Lay your head down, child. I won’t let the boogey man come,” Hao said softly, running a gentle hand through Ren’s hair.

Ren felt Thomas completely relax.

“You know, you shouldn’t pay any attention to what those heathens say,” Hao began to stroke his face, slowly, lovingly. “I know you’re thinking about them. But they don’t care about you like I do.”

Ren looked up at him helplessly, a mixed wave of fear, hatred and adoration rising up from the confused minds of his alters.

“Here, you’re safe. Safe from pain, and hurt. Loss, and sin. They want you to go out there, into that world, where those things reside?” Hao’s mouth moved close to his ear as he said, in a hushed but threatening voice, “They don’t give a _fuck_ about you.”

One moment, Ren wanted to throw a punch right into Hao’s sickening face. The next he wanted to be held by him and be caressed. The next moment he wanted to do anything he could to make him happy. Hao would always be the dividing line between his real self, and his alters. The problem was, he couldn’t even tell for himself on which side of the line he stood.

“Just stay with me here, safe in ignorance.” Hao began to shower his forehead in kisses, soft and pleasant. Yet his hands gripped at his wrists with a force that belied his true intentions.

Joseph was lost for words. Tiger crooned for attention.

“Go back to sleep. They won’t hurt you while I’m here.”

Hao’s soft, calming voice was shattered by an enormous clamour outside Ren’s door. Through the crack, Ren could make out the dark shapes of people moving. Big people – the Grigori who had carried him in here, it seemed. There was scuffling and shouting and Ren realised they had captured someone else. He heard pained screams, saw a flash of emerald hair, and knew it was Lyserg. He had been found out. Of course he had. Hao knew everything.

“Pay no mind to the rebel,” Hao instructed, forcing his head back to look in his direction. “Head down, go to sleep. Just remember, it’s me who will protect you from all your enemies, all your demons. Those outsiders will not make it past me. I’ll be the one to protect you from all the terrible choices you’ve made over the past few months. You carry no sin with me, I can forgive you. But you must understand, in order to abate your wrong-doings, I must isolate you. I must isolate you to save you from yourself.”

Lyserg’s screams got louder. Ren’s eyes wandered to the door. _They were torturing him._

Hao’s hands pushed his face back to focus on his own once more, saying more firmly this time, “Pay no mind to the rebel.”

He kissed him then, long and deep. Tiger was silent at last. Ren was left with a bitter taste on his numb lips when Hao pulled away, a renewed vigour in his step as he rose to his feet. He smiled triumphantly somewhere outside the window.

“Soon, they will all be swaying to the rhythm of the New World Order. Go back to sleep, precious. Let the beat of the war drums be your lullaby.”

With one final snarl of his perfect teeth, Hao was gone, the door slamming shut behind him, once again bathing the cell in darkness.

And Ren slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was heavily influenced by A Perfect Circle's song 'Pet'. I highly recommend a listen!


	34. Chapter 34

Horo arrived at the Sanctuary with a familiar feeling of serenity. A strange bliss, considering what he had come for, and the situation he was currently in. He thought perhaps it was due to the walk, the old familiar trail he hadn’t trodden since he first discovered Ren all those months ago. The journey he made here had always been a great source of strength for him, night after drunken night. It had cleared his head of countless vicious hangovers, firing after firing from endless jobs, and even the ugliest of arguments he had had with Pirika. He held on to nothing any more, none of these once all-consuming fears even registered in his consciousness. His only thought now was of Ren.

He knew what he risked by coming here. He knew he was jeopardising Ren’s safety as well as his own. But he also knew that abandoning Ren, and being without him, was a much crueller fate than anything Hao could inflict upon them. He just hoped Ren thought the same.

The strangest part about his walk here was having company. Anna had without argument followed Horo as he charged out of the apartment. She had managed to placate him long enough to clean his head wound and wrap a crude bandage around it. It had hurt like hell and he had even vomited when she poured a disinfectant on the open cut. He still wasn’t sure of his footing even now, but he had wasted no time, and left immediately, Anna hot on his heels. She had been surprisingly sturdy during the journey, despite having a black eye and a sprained wrist from her altercation with Hao’s goons. She said very little as they walked, and Horo was grateful for it.

And now, here they stood, feet on the steps of the old, dilapidated factory charmingly known as the Sanctuary. Despite not knowing what awaited them inside, Horo felt no fear. He was driven by a steely purpose, a polished anger to get what he had come for. And if Hao happened to suffer during the process, Horo was happy to live with that. He rested one hand on the metal door.

“Wait, you’re just going to walk right in there, through the front door?” Anna finally spoke up, voice quivering perhaps a little more than she had intended.

“Do you have a better idea?” Horo said, without looking back. “They know we’re coming. We’d reveal ourselves in seconds if we tried to sneak in. No, better for them to think they’ve got the upper hand.”

Anna didn’t respond, obviously taken aback by his determination. Horo wasn’t surprised by her shock – it had been a long time since even he had seen this side of himself. She gestured for him to carry on, and he did.

The door creaked loudly as he pulled it open, announcing their arrival.

Before him, Horo saw the pews, the crude altar, the candelabras that he remembered so well from his first visit. He began to picture Ren crouched in prayer at the altar, then found it was what he was really seeing before him. Ren’s head was bowed, and he did not flinch at the sound of Horo and Anna entering. He seemed to be unharmed – for now.

The pews were filled with members of the Grigori, a myriad of mismatched faces not familiar to Horo. Most of these people looked completely normal. He could have passed them a hundred times in the street and never noticed. They were hardly the archetypal religious cult members. When Horo and Anna entered, all of them turned to see, anticipation on their faces. Horo guessed they had been told to expect trouble.

At the left of the altar where Ren prayed, stood a tall man, blonde, with glasses, wearing a crucifix. To be stood where he was, Horo guessed he must be important. Atop the altar was Hao. His eyes burned with a fiery joy as he watched them enter. He seemed thrilled to see them walking into his lair, like it was just what he wanted. His sneer stretched wide across his face, and he held his arms out in greeting.

“Welcome, Horokeu, to the Sanctuary,” he announced. “Though I suppose you know it well, this being your return visit and all.”

Horo said nothing. He was still absorbing the situation as best he could. He wished for a moment he had his own alter to summon forth, a stronger, more intelligent version of himself who could find the best course of action for this scenario. But he was no Ren, he was no Faust – he felt the cogs of his mind grinding with effort at the thought of what his next move should be. He tried to blame it on his inevitable concussion, but he knew deep down that this was just the way he was made.

“Brothers and sisters, this is Usui Horokeu, and his partner in crime, Anna Kyoyama,” Hao continued, addressing his captive audience. “They are the heathens who took our holy charge away from us.”

The blonde man studied them silently. He was passing rosary beads one by one through his fingers.

“Holy?” Horo glared. “Nothing about this seems holy to me.”

“That’s because you are blind to the glory of God,” Hao smiled, sympathetically. Stood at the altar, arms spread like a preacher and waxing religious, Horo suddenly saw him as the manipulator he was. “You are a sinner, one who cannot and will not be redeemed. I don’t expect you to comprehend the work we do here, what Ren’s presence here means to us. He will not be taken away.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Horo said, as forcefully as he could. “We’re not leaving without him.”

Hao chuckled to himself. “Such big words. I’m looking forward to seeing how you live up to them.”

Horo felt the gravity of what he said. He still didn’t feel as though he had a plan. Somewhere in the distance came a squeal of agony that surprised even the Grigori. Hao just smirked. “Ah, that would be our honoured guests. Marco, would you be so kind as to bring them up here?”

Horo watched the blonde man, Marco, incline his head softly and disappear off into the darkness. Something in the core of him made him fear what Marco would return with. When he reappeared, with a tumult of shouting and struggling, Horo saw he had two people under his arms. Both were gagged, bound, and bloody. Under their wounds and swollen faces, Horo was barely able to recognise them. But with a surge of anger, he soon did.

“Pirika! Lyserg!” He stepped forward, and the Grigori rose defensively. They obviously weren’t going to let him pass. He cursed in frustration, unable to move, and curled his fists until his fingers ached.

Marco flung Pirika and Lyserg on to their knees upon the altar, forcing them to bow their heads. Horo could see the tears dripping from Pirika’s bruised eyes, and he bit down on his lip until he could taste blood. Hao towered over them victoriously. “Your sister and her friend just popped in for a visit,” he said, mockingly. “I thought I would show them some of our famous hospitality.”

“You’re sick,” Anna said with disgust. She gestured accusingly at the people in the pews. “And all of you are okay with this? You’re all fine with worshipping this megalomaniac?”

But Horo noticed that not all of the Grigori were looking so sure. In fact, some of them looked shocked. And why wouldn’t they? Lyserg had been one of their own. This was obviously the first time they were all seeing what Hao had done to him. Some of them were fidgeting, others whispering quietly. Their ranks suddenly seemed rattled.

Hao snarled again. “They don’t _need_ to worship me, just fear me. As should you. Do you need me to show you why?”

Canines bared, Hao swooped down to seize Lyserg by his emerald hair. He yanked him to the forefront of the altar, scraping his knees across the wooden floor. The jack-knife motion caused Lyserg’s gag to fall, and he cried out deafeningly. The Grigori cried with him, horrified by Hao’s savage hand. “Hush, all of you!” Hao scathed, jerking Lyserg around helplessly.

“Let him go, Hao,” Horo called out, trying to add an edge to his voice. His heart thrashing against his ribs betrayed his composure. “He hasn’t done anything to you.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong.” As he spoke, Hao was reaching into the sepulchrum of the altar. From its belly, he produced a metal tool that looked to Horo like a pair of large forceps. The dissent in the crowd sounded like shock at the presence of such things in a holy place. Hao did not hear, and brandished the tool in Lyserg’s face as he continued to rant. “I know he’s been acting as your little spy. I know he has betrayed our cause to lie down with your sister. All sinners must atone. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth – isn’t that the adage?”

The Grigori seemed conflicted. Horo caught their whispered words as they conferred between themselves. Yes, some of them said, Lyserg had done wrong. But was this really necessary? What would happen to them when t _hey_ inevitably stepped out of line?

“So what should I take from this little traitor?” Hao’s hand wandered, poking Lyserg’s face tauntingly with the forceps. Lyserg did well not to react to the prodding, but his expression was that of pure terror. “The proverbial eye? One of the teeth he so readily lies through?”

Hao made a sudden lurch toward him and Lyserg’s resolve wavered. He screamed out, an inhuman cry of fear. With Lyserg’s mouth wide open, Hao struck. Horo, Anna, and the Grigori let out a collective cry as Hao gripped a tooth and ripped it from Lyserg’s gums.

Blood sprayed, Lyserg howled. Beside him, Pirika scrambled to help. Though both of her feet were still tied, she managed to get herself standing, tears streaming down her cheeks as she threw her whole bodyweight at Hao. Hao smiled amusedly and kicked her down before she could so much as touch him.

The wood beneath her splintered as she hit the ground, sprawled out right in front of where Ren prayed. Horo was running towards her before he even knew that he had moved. He hardly considered the Grigori until he had cleared the pews. Why had they not stopped him? The answer was simple: they were leaving. Rushing out in their horror at Hao’s maddened state, they didn’t so much as look back as they trampled each other to get out of the doors.

Marco was the only one who remained, and he stepped out in front of Horo as he tried to get to Pirika’s side. He said and did nothing, just shook his head gently as Horo approached.

If Hao had noticed his followers had left, he did not seem to care. He was focused now on Horo’s advances. Chuckling to himself, he loosened his grip on Lyserg just enough to turn and say, simply, “Ren?”

Horo froze, mid-stride. The world jolted and he regained his balance. He watched Ren rise from the altar like a dark spirit, and he felt the sickness bubble in his stomach. “Don’t,” Horo said, weakly. He didn’t mean to beg.

“You know I could make him do anything, to any of you, right now?” Hao smirked. “Of course you do. You’ve seen what he’s capable of.”

Horo studied Ren’s face. He had only seen him like this a few times, but that was more than enough. He hated Ren’s blank eyes, vacant expression, limp body – the pose that meant he was ready to accept commands. He seemed nothing more than a doll just made to look like Ren, with no soul whatsoever inside of it. It stung to think that Hao had undone all of Ren’s progress with nothing but the call of his name.

“Calibre,” Hao said softly, and fear crept up Horo’s spine. “ _Zerstören_.”

“No…” Horo breathed. Calibre was one alter who could still strike fear into him. Horo was too afraid to look and see the murderous glint in Ren’s eyes as Calibre began his approach.

And yet something felt odd. Horo knew one thing about Calibre: he hated Hao, with a violent, burning passion. Why would he be taking orders from him? But before he could contemplate it, Calibre was upon him and he was shielding himself from a punch to the head. Hao had obviously instructed the alter to attack, and he was doing so magnificently. Horo took several blows to the ribs before he managed to defend himself again.

“Horo, he’s going to kill you!” Anna shouted from somewhere behind him. “You’ve got to fight back!”

Horo almost shook his head, but didn’t want to break his concentration – the only thing defending him from Calibre’s devastating blows. He wasn’t going to attack. That was Ren’s body, and no desire for self-preservation was going to make Horo do him any harm.

Hao laughed, finally letting Lyserg crumple to the floor. “It’s hopeless to try and coach him, Anna. Calibre’s skills are unmatched. Not even the finest solider in the world could best him!”

Horo managed to fend off a kick to his side, and he thought of something. Hao was right – Calibre _had_ no equal. It shouldn’t have been possible for Horo to have stood his ground against him _at all_. But now, he had lasted… two, three minutes against him?

Horo struggled to catch Calibre’s eyes underneath the flurry of their limbs, and he knew what he would see.

That was not the bloodthirsty look of Calibre. Those were Ren’s eyes staring back at him. He would have known them anywhere. For a moment, he felt a small victory – Hao had failed to trigger him. But more than that, he had _missed_ the fact that Ren was still himself. But Horo knew. Right then, in that moment, he realised he knew Ren even better than his own creator.

But why was Ren still attacking him? The blows came ever faster and now Horo was distracted, more of them were getting through. Ren wasn’t holding back, and the pain he inflicted was very real. Horo was trying to gain himself some ground when he tripped backwards and fell. Still Ren struck. Horo looked searchingly up into his face, to try and understand what was happening. Ren didn’t look enraged, or crazy. In fact, he looked more like he was _pleading_.

Horo understood immediately. Closing his eyes, he let Ren stamp a heavy foot down into his stomach. He retched with pain and recoiled on the floor, surrendering. Through blurry tears of agony, Horo saw Hao beckon with a single finger, and Ren returned to his side. The grin on Hao’s face was infuriating.

“You see, Horokeu, this is what our society is built on, the needs of men like you and I,” Hao preached from upon the altar, Ren standing stoic at his side. “Total and complete domination of another human being is our darkest fantasy, is it not? It’s an instinct instilled in us from birth. It starts with our siblings, building rivalries for food, attention, our mother’s love. We work to shame them, chastise them, beat them down, until we are the favoured one. We move on to animals, taming them with food, teaching them to trust us, then enslaving them with cages and leashes, or squashing them under thumb. When we realise the world is bigger than us, we crave that power. We want to taste that dominance again. Some people search their whole lives for a slice of that, a lover to supress, a nation to dictate. The scale of the need is decided only by the person’s drive. You see, what Marco and I have created is just an extension of our basest desires. But we are by no means the first. Ren is by no means the only test subject. Any victory you would hope to gain here would be a small triumph in the grand scheme of things.”

“I know it’s selfish, but for now, I just want Ren to come home,” Horo pulled himself up from the floor, with great effort, making sure to look Hao directly in the eye as he spoke. He tried to ignore Ren’s beseeching expression, the one that was willing him to just stop. “Then we’ll figure out where to go from there. If there are others we can save through his experiences, then that’s what we’ll do. But we’re only two people. We’ll achieve what we can. But I can’t hope to do a thing without him beside me.”

“How romantic,” Hao snickered. “I should have realised you’ve fallen for him. How could you not, seeing the wonders he has to offer?” Hao’s arm pulled Ren closer and ran a hand through his violet hair. “Marco, restrain our guest. I want him to bear witness to the lengths Ren will go to for me.”

Marco was quicker than he looked. No sooner had Hao spoken than he was upon Horo, twisting his arms painfully behind his back. Anna was darting to his rescue when Horo saw her freeze. He heard the click of a gun somewhere behind his head.

“Take another step, and I’ll end him right now.”

Anna held up her hands and retreated a few steps, mouthing a silent apology in Horo’s direction.

Marco forced his head around with the barrel of the gun, so he directly faced Hao and Ren. He knew what was coming. He knew he was going to be forced to watch.

“Tiger,” Hao purred softly, and Ren slinked into his chest. Hao ran his hands along Ren’s back and pulled him closer. Over Hao’s shoulder, Horo could see that the trigger had once again failed. Ren stared back at him with helpless eyes as Hao kissed and bit at his neck. Ren was sinking ever into him, and Hao assimilated him, making him move and moan with only the slightest touch.

It was all an act, but Horo could plainly see the role Tiger was expected to play for Hao, the role Ren was now faking. It was the complete opposite of how Tiger had been with him. His cheeks burned as he tried to forget it. The alter had to take control of the situation because he was so woefully inexperienced. There was no danger of that with Hao. Hao wanted servility from all and everyone, and Tiger was the one to give him that. But painfully, Horo knew that was not a twisted alter up there on the altar, kissing, caressing, groping another man – that was his Ren. He couldn’t dismiss the thought from his mind, nor could he look away. He fell to his knees helplessly, the thought of the gun almost gone from his mind.

Hao surfaced from Ren’s flesh for a moment to look Horo right in the eyes. “Do you want me to show you how I make him scream?”

“That’s enough, Hao. I think you’ve had your fun.”

A deep, booming voice, sickeningly familiar, echoed around the Sanctuary. From the shadows behind the altar, the huge form of Luchist came into view.

Hao’s expression was murderous, Ren still held helplessly in his arms. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Luchist shrugged. “I wasn’t about to leave you unattended when you’re obviously so unhinged.”

“I don’t think I asked for a study of my mental capacity,” Hao pushed Ren away from him roughly, but he didn’t move far. “What’s going on here is none of your concern.”

“On the contrary, my friend. I fear your branch of the operation may have morphed into a different monster entirely. Look at these people,” Luchist said, casting his arms around the room, where both Pirika and Lyserg lay unconscious in pain, brave Anna was held powerless in the corner of the room, and Horo sat clutching at his aching body. “They should be nothing to do with your plan. This isn’t the work you were brought here to do.”

“I don’t expect you to understand. It is God’s work that we do here.”

“Perhaps you’re mistaken about that.”

For the first time, Marco spoke. His voice was low and controlled. Hao’s turned to look at him, first with fury. That look changed to genuine fear as Hao realised that Marco’s gun was now pointing at _him_. Then suddenly, he seemed bored.

“Oh, Marco. You want to do this _now_?”

“Father, I didn’t realise you would be here, and I’m sorry. But I can’t hear the Lord’s name being taken in vain any longer. I have to put an end to this,” Marco said, no hint of hysteria in his voice.

Hao pressed a wounded hand to his forehead in exasperation. “You know what we do here, Marco. This should come as no surprise to you. You had no problem taking the Lord’s name in vain yourself when it came to that little girl you were working on last time.”

“And I have lived with that for many years,” Marco retorted. “We, all three of us, have done some terrible things, and I have seen more torment in my years than you ever will. I have broken down and rebuilt so many innocent people, just like Ren, and I have been thinking for a long time about how to absolve myself. I believe it starts with our demise.”

Hao chuckled then, a disturbing sound. “You think I don’t know what you’ve been planning? Poor, sweet, Marco. I know exactly what you’ve been doing. I know you’ve been trying to turn the others against me. I know you’ve been trying to corrupt Ren’s programming. You think I wouldn’t find the bugs you placed in him? That you think I would let you run amok under my watch is laughable.”

Marco didn’t seem fazed. “What’s laughable is your confidence in yourself. It seems as though you hardly know the half of it. You’ve been so involved with recovering Ren from these people that you have been blinded. You should just admit that you care for the boy. Only love would make you this ignorant.”

Hao’s face contorted into a snarl. For once, he had no response.

“I’ve planted demolition charges all around the foundations of this building,” Marco continued, fishing out a small electronic device from his inner pocket. There was but one button, with a very obvious purpose. “I’m going to blow this place and all your research sky high.”

“You wouldn’t _dare_!” Hao spat.

Marco smiled cockily. “Let’s see, shall we?” His fingers hovered above the controls, chastising Hao. In his adrenaline-fueled state, Hao was easily provoked. He flew at Marco in a frenzy, and the two men clashed. Though Ren was silently warning him off, Horo saw he had an opportunity to get to his side. Under the confusion of the fist-fight, he began to crawl away on his hands and knees. Anna had the same idea and managed to get to Pirika and Lyserg in a few seconds, and began untying their binding.

But just as Horo began to move, something pulled his attention back. With the sound of a punishing impact, Marco’s device came spinning across the floor. Right within Horo’s reach.

Luchist stood the childish fighting for barely a minute, before he sighed loud enough for everyone to hear. That was the only warning that came before a single bullet sent Marco flying. It pierced his neck and thrust him out of Hao’s grip. As he hit the ground, the blood pooled endlessly beneath him.

It was the end of Luchist’s gun that was smoking.

Hao stood shocked for a moment, wounded but still wired from the fight. Then, with a smile that showed the blood between his teeth, he turned to Luchist darkly. “You would kill your own son to help me?”

Luchist’s tone was just as jovial as it had always been, like he hadn’t just watched his son die at his own hand. “Helping _you_ was the last thing on my mind. It was Ren I needed to protect. He’s much too precious of an experiment for us to lose now.”

With Marco’s corpse so near him, it took Horo a while to come back to his senses and remember what had caught his attention. But there it was, so obviously sat there. Horo, Ren, Anna, Luchist and Hao – all had eyes on the detonator.

But only one of them could reach it. Horo swiped it up with shaking fingers.

Suddenly, and very literally, the control was in his hands. In just a moment he had been transformed from a regretful spectator of this chaos into the one who had the power to choose how this might end. Apparently Hao realised that too. Without a flash of thought, Hao drew upon him, spitting blood. Luchist still had his gun in his hand. Horo felt the brevity of this moment, this window of seconds in which he needed to make his decision.

On the one hand, everyone he loved was in this building, right now. Yet so was everyone he despised. Bringing the place down would cause damage on both sides, and who could say how much overall? On the other hand, Luchist had more bullets and Hao was approaching him with a fire in his eyes that made Horo genuinely afraid. He had seen what Hao was capable of, and more. Did he want the same to happen to him? How else would he stop him, if not like this?

Horo scrambled for another answer, one less risky or less foolish. But the seconds were ticking. Hao was two furious strides away. He had no more time.

He saw Ren was about to call out to him, but he didn’t wait to hear the words. He pressed the button.

Light exploded around them, eerily quiet at first, but soon followed by a thunderous noise that made his eardrums burn. He and Hao, less than an arms-length apart, were flung in opposite directions.

On his back, Horo saw the sky fall down upon them. He felt pieces of rubble, metal and wood pummel every part of him as the Sanctuary exploded. He heard no cries of pain from the others – had he gone deaf? He was half convinced he was blind until he realised that the dust was too thick in front of him to see anything. He couldn’t feel his right leg _._ There was an unwelcome pressure on his chest. He tried to call out _,_ wanted to know where the others were, if they were okay, but he choked on the dusty air and caused himself a painful coughing fit that his stifled chest could barely stand.

His view of the world was narrow through the pile of debris that now encapsulated him. There was a thick steel beam above his head that would surely have crushed him if he had fallen any further to the right. Scared of disturbing the rubble, he dared not move an inch. He fixed his eyes on the sliver of outside he could see, and choked out, “Ren! Pirika? Anna?”

His voice sounded small and far away. His ears were ringing from the explosion. Shouting caused him too much pain.

It seemed to take hours for the dust to clear, bit by bit. All sense of time was robbed from him by the pain and anxiety he was feeling. As the dust dispersed, his crack of the world sharpened into focus. Soon he could see a figure in the distance. Not that far away, relatively speaking, but at the moment it might have been on another planet entirely. There was only one person who could be left standing after that destruction.

Horo braced himself for the agony as he called out, loud as he could manage, “Ren!”

Ren turned his head, looked right at him. Horo begged for help silently, with his eyes – the only part of his body he still felt he had control over. Ren didn’t come.

“Ren…” Horo coughed, weaker this time. His vision swam in front of him. Were those tears, or was he blacking out?

Ren studied him for a moment. He was too far away for Horo to see his face clearly. Was he injured? Was he even himself? The two held each other’s gaze for an eternity, a lifetime of silent conversation passing between them, before Ren turned his back, and Horo’s heart shattered.

From his prison of debris, Horo watched Ren’s distorted figure bend to someone in the ruins. He cleared the rubble tentatively, almost lovingly, like nothing else on this earth mattered except the prize beneath. He extended a small hand, and someone rose from the ground.

Of course it was Hao. Dust-covered, bloody and limping, but he still had not lost his sickening charm as he took Ren firmly by the arm. Ren gave way to support his weight with eagerness, tentatively wrapping an arm around his waist.

Horo’s heart broke thrice more: once as Hao straightened triumphantly. Twice, when Ren didn’t even glance back. And one final time as the two of them walked away, together.

He allowed himself to slip into unconsciousness then. He would have been glad to have never woken up. Perhaps he wouldn’t. All he could do was pray.

 


	35. Chapter 35

Since that day, the years had been kind to Horo. God knows he was due a run of good luck, but once he had it, he wasn’t sure if he was happy about it. Since he had closed his eyes in the debris of the Sanctuary, time had seemed to move more slowly. Everything seemed stale. The last couple of years had at best felt like a decade. He felt older than he was, and wearier for it.

During the couple of month’s recovery from his broken leg and cracked ribs, Silva had managed to restore _Burger Galore_ to its former, grease-stained glory. Horo had returned to his job, mostly out of boredom, and poured himself whole-heartedly into his work. As well as he could pour himself into burger-flipping, anyway. He took any and all shifts that he could, just to keep himself occupied. He hadn’t got the heart to joke around with Yoh behind the counter anymore and was inevitably more productive as a result. Silva had soon noticed his change in attitude, and offered him the managerial position at his own franchise, a new store on the other side of town.

Initially he had refused, but Pirika had pushed him to accept. He did, begrudgingly, but was eventually glad of the extra responsibility his new job brought him as it kept his mind from wandering into the past, or into the bottom of a bottle.

Pirika was doing well for herself. With Ryu incarcerated and Chocolove’s gang disbanded in the wake of his death, things were a lot more peaceful for her now. She had a real job, working at a grocery store near her new apartment, where she lived with Lyserg. When she had left, Horo had had trouble adjusting to living on his own, and Pirika made the effort to come and stay with him at least once a week. When he moved – he _had_ to move _,_ because of work, he told himself – he chose somewhere with two bedrooms, and Pirika left some of her belongings behind so it still seemed like she had a permanent lodging there. He knew she came to stay out of pity, but he was glad of her company regardless.

He hadn’t heard from Anna in a long time. After they had been rescued from the Sanctuary, Anna had immediately begun work on her exposé of Hao. It was brilliant writing; she had brought it to Horo a few times before publication. It was the right mix of informative without lecturing, sensitive without skimping on the important details. The two of them had worked long into the night for a while, ironing out the creases and making sure they agreed on the same version of the story. Horo reined Anna in whenever he thought she was trying to sensationalise what happened, and Anna wrote on her own the difficult parts that Horo didn’t want to discuss. The process had been challenging for Horo at first, thinking about what he was already trying to forget. But eventually it had become almost therapeutic to him, discussing the hows and the whys and the whats. Anna never spoke emotions, only facts, and her business-like approach helped him to view the events with a sense of objectivity.

He had nursed that manuscript night after night with Anna, both of them blind-sided parents to the screaming newborn that was this project. They paced and fretted, and sometimes even fought as the words tumbled into each other, refusing to rest and denying them any sleep until they were placated.

Despite his input, Horo declined when Anna asked if he wanted his name to be attached to the document, even as a source. He was still paranoid (probably overly so) about exposing himself to that world once again. Anna had shrugged and taken the paper away. That had been the last time he had seen her, as she walked out of the door with the final product in her hands, promising to call back soon.

The exposé was widely discredited by the media, and Anna was ridiculed. There was no reason for Anna’s work to be discounted, other than Hao’s gleaming reputation, but Horo had suspicions that Hao’s influence reached further than they imagined. Newspapers weren’t willing to publish anything to blacklist someone they were closely affiliated with. So he remained the estranged father of the failed project, and Anna – whether out of shame, or simple disinterest – no longer contacted him again. Yoh had told him on several occasions that he had been out with Anna for drinks, and that they had even smoked pot together in her apartment more than a few times. Horo didn’t know whether to believe him, but the detail Yoh could tell him about Anna’s bedroom seemed disturbingly accurate.

Horo had been off the wagon for a long while. At first, he had relapsed, feeling an absence of purpose he had not for some time. Drinking filled the void, he found. Pirika had caught him drunk one day and her hurt looks were too much to bear, so he tipped away the bottles he had stockpiled in his kitchen.

But that morning, he had almost given in again. He had been so nervous he thought only a good glass of Dutch courage would help him through the day.

What Silva had not told him was that running his own franchise meant employing his own staff. Horo had begged for Yoh to come with him, but Silva had denied the request. Silva was testing his ability to start from the ground up, he knew that, but he didn’t like it at all. He had to conduct interviews, like he was somehow worthy of judging other people of their value. He had barely scraped through the first two candidates, feeling more like _he_ was being interviewed rather than the other way around. He stammered and mixed up his questions, and somehow managed to forget the names of both of them mid-conversation.

Luckily he had allowed himself time to recover before his next candidate arrived. He fixed himself a strong coffee from the machine, so pristine and new, like everything else in the restaurant. He sat at one of the plastic tables, the protective film covers having only just been removed. He contemplated how quickly these tables would get sullied. He wondered how long it would take before someone stuck a piece of gum to the underside, or carved their names into the surface with something sharp. The coffee he drank was bitter and it made him screw up his face in disgust. How would he sell this swill?

A knock on the door caused him to look up in surprise. He panicked. They were early. The glass at the front of the building was still frosted while construction was being finished, so he could only just see the dark outline of his visitor at the door.

He sighed resignedly. “Let’s get this over with.”

As he neared the door, the outline of the figure sharpened, and he began to see more shapes, more colours. He could have sworn the hair of the person standing there was violet.

The door swung open easily in his hand. His heart stopped and jump-started itself again in one sickening moment.

Before him, in full Technicolor, flesh and blood, was the one person he had worked to push from his mind these last two years. The person whose absence he had already felt and grieved for. The only person to still hold his heart, even after all this time. Tao Ren.

“Hello, Horokeu,” Ren smiled. An easy smile, incompatible with any of the memories Horo had of him.

“Hi?” Horo managed, awkwardly. His words wouldn’t form. He had practised this conversation in his head a thousand times, what he would say if he ever saw Ren again. But he told himself that he never would. So he had let the speeches about betrayal and hurt be forgotten. And now here he was, the impossible before him, and there was nothing in his head but white noise.

“Do you mind if I come in?” Ren asked, after a palpable silence.

“Um…” Horo hesitated, but stepped backward without a reply.

Ren smiled again as he entered, and it struck Horo once more how odd that expression looked on him. Who was this person wearing Ren’s skin?

“You’re not… here for the job, are you?”

Ren giggled softly. He remembered that beautiful sound. “Oh, I did see that you were hiring. But no, I’m not. I’m sorry.”

“How did you find me here?” Horo ventured.

“Can we sit down before we talk? I feel like we have a lot to say.”

Horo obliged, and they sat at opposite ends of one of the plastic tables. It seemed strange to be taking requests from Ren. It wasn’t something _Ren_ would do.

“Are you… _you_?” Horo asked.

Ren understood his meaning completely. “I think as much as I’m ever going to be. The others are still here, sometimes. But we only ever co-operate these days. It’s a nice change.” Ren studied him for a moment, those golden eyes stripping away layers of his very soul. “Horokeu, how are you?”

“Don’t ask me that,” Horo said, sharply, shaking his head. “I can tell you things are good, things are okay, that I’m getting there, but none of it’s true. And it’s all because of you. The last time I felt even a little bit okay was the last time I saw you, on that day, right before you…” He trailed off, paused while the images flashed behind his eyes. “You left with him.”

“Horo…”

“You left with him, and for all you know, you left me and the others for dead. Where is he, huh? Did he get tired of his new toy already and toss you aside?”

Ren looked visibly stung. “He’s dead.”

“What?”

“He was killed,” Ren said. “By Faust.”

“Faust?” Horo inhaled sharply.

“He came to get me, a few months after we… were separated. He killed Hao in cold blood, and took me with him.” Horo tried to gauge the emotion in Ren’s eyes. He thought he saw grief and he hated it. “We’ve been working on my recovery ever since. That’s how I became me again.”

“If he’s dead, why have I not heard about it?” Hao’s face was usually everywhere, his reputation pushed in the noses of anybody with working eyes. True that Horo had not seen much of him recently, but then this was something he was actively trying to avoid. Any glimpse of that corrosive face and a headline declaring him a hero of something or another was enough to turn Horo’s stomach. Every magazine cover he appeared on dripped blood from its mouth, fire in his eyes and Ren on his arm, like he had appeared that day.

“Hao was more than a man, he was a commodity. They’re still moving around his assets and stocks before they mention anything to the public. I wouldn’t be surprised if his death is faked sometime soon. It will be hugely tragic, I imagine.”

_I’d prefer grisly,_ Horo seethed inwardly. “And Faust? Where is he? Is he alright?”

“I’ve just parted ways with him, probably for good. He doesn’t want to be involved in your life anymore Horo, for the trouble he might cause. He’s still not managed to free himself from Wōden.” Horo felt an odd absence then, his thoughts resolving that he might never again see the man closest to a father he had. “He told me where to find you and I came straight here.”

“He knew where I was?”

“He’s been with you more than you think,” Ren said, curling his hands in his lap. “Who do you think it was that rescued you from the ruins?”

“Faust did that?” It was true that the details of their recovery had been sketchy. Someone had pulled them from the wreckage and called an ambulance. Not one of them could recall what had happened. “But he was in a wheelchair.”

“He still is. I should say that it was Wōden that helped you. Alters can have a different effect on the human body than the person themselves. When Wōden takes control, Faust can walk again.”

Horo wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen all he had, in his time with Ren.

Ren cocked his head to the side endearingly, studying him. “Of course, based on Faust’s impact on your life so far, I‘ll leave it you to decide if him sending me here was a curse or a blessing.”

Horo span his coffee cup around in his hands, quiet. “He sent you? Or did you choose to come?”

“I chose. He only told me where you’d be.”

Horo looked straight at him then. “Then why are you here?”

Ren seemed bewildered, as though the answer was so obvious that he had not prepared an explanation. “To see you.”

“Right. Then what?” Horo felt his temper rising, unbidden. He didn’t want to be angry with Ren. But he felt like the anger was all he had left. He was so angry that he could physically feel it. “Do you expect me to just welcome you back with open arms? Like you didn’t leave me to die while you swanned off with some psychopath?”

He had hurt Ren, he could see from the way he lowered his eyes and spoke softly into his hands. Just the way he used to look. “That’s not what happened.”

“Then what _did_ happen, Ren? I suppose it was Tiger’s fault? Or Calibre’s? Or some other crazy alter that loved to wash Hao’s feet?” He was shouting now, he hadn’t meant to.

“It was me, Horo. It was me the whole time. But I hope you don’t really think we disappeared off into the sunset romantically together,” Ren’s eyes were filled with tears when he met Horo’s gaze again. His voice was small, quiet. “Being with him again was hell. He put me through some terrible things in order to ‘correct’ my programming. He thought I’d been completely broken by you, and he wanted to do anything he could to make me see the error of my ways. But I took it all, all of his abuse, for your sake.”

Horo frowned. “How on earth would that benefit me?”

Ren raised his voice to meet Horo’s bitter tone. “I had to get him away from you! Don’t you see? If I’d left him there, he would have killed you for sure! If I’d left with you, he would have just come back for us!” He lay his hands on the table, palms up, fingers out-stretched, baring himself to Horo. “I didn’t want that. I had to make him think he’d won, and get him away from you. It wasn’t what I wanted, but it’s the only choice I had that would have kept you alive.”

“I could have done it, you know,” Horo said quietly, looking down at the floor. “I could have just killed him.”

Ren shook his head softly. “We both knew you couldn’t have. You’re too gentle. The polar opposite of him. But Faust bore a huge brunt when he executed Hao. Now Hao’s superiors are all looking for him. He’s a hunted man, and that won’t change until they’ve gotten their revenge. He won’t have much of a life while he’s running, but he did a great thing for us. We _can_ have a life. We can assimilate ourselves, be _normal.”_

Horo glanced up at the touch on his hand.

“We can be free of all this,” Ren said, eyes still watery, a smile on his face that was barely there at all.

For a moment, his Ren came back to him. The small, afraid stranger with a past full of agony and a million voices in his head. The one Horo would have fought hell itself just to be with.

And then he realised: this was it. They _had_ fought hell. This was their victory. The thing they had been striving for since the day they met. It had been delayed more than they possibly deserved, but it was here.

He didn’t want to waste any more time being angry, being hurt, or being regretful. He wanted to enjoy this. He pulled his hand from Ren’s and quickly moved around the table to embrace him. Ren stood to meet him and buried his head in Horo’s chest. Horo felt his tears of joy drip into a handful of violet hair as he choked, through a smile, “After all we’ve been through, and it feels like I barely know you. I have so much to ask you, so much to tell you.”

Ren smiled up at him, the most real and tangible thing Horo had for his own.  “Then let’s get started.”


End file.
